


Flightless Bird, American Mouth

by tina_v



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: -Ish, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All the tropes from the stony fandom, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Bottom Steve, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, JARVIS is a little shit, Joseph's A+ Parenting, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Tony, Virgin Steve Rogers, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tina_v/pseuds/tina_v
Summary: “Stop me, Steve. Please.”But Steve decides to be selfish for once in his life and doesn’t.___Tony has feelings for a teammate but doesn't want to deal with them. Steve knows exactly what he wants but he's overthinking.





	1. Back To You (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Been working on this for some time now. I am... exhausted lol but I think it pays off.  
I took canon and twisted it, so consider it AU-ish.  
Any tags you feel like should be added, please let me know. Nicely though. 
> 
> I worked real hard on this, so I hope you guys decide to come along with me on this journey.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

_ I wanna hold you when I'm not supposed to _

_ When I'm lying close to someone else _

_ You're stuck in my head and I can't get you out of it _

The day Pepper Potts decides she can no longer be in a relationship with Tony Stark is a sad one. She’d been thinking about this - suspecting it, would be a better word - for sometime now. She remembered how much he despised the man even before they’d met, and after New York, Tony still rolled his eyes at everything related to him and he often spoke of how simple-minded the guy was. Then Killian happened and Tony promised to stop and she couldn’t have been happier as she watched all those metal suits blow up in the sky while he held her close. Best Christmas present she’s ever gotten, definitely topped that hideous and inappropriate bunny. But then after SHIELD collapsed, the team had to take down HYDRA piece by piece, mission after mission. So Tony obviously responded to the Avengers call and suited up. The team moved to the Tower for convenience reasons and  _ then _ she started noticing stuff. She wasn’t around all that much, managing Stark Industries took a lot of time and a lot of flying around the world, but when she did spend some time with her boyfriend, she could  _ see _ it. Watching them together was entertaining at first, the way they quarreled like an old married couple, but as their relationship progressed and grew… there was that glint in Tony’s eyes when he looked at him, the way he tilted his head to the side and a soft smile spread across his face, the lingering touches that lasted a little too long, the fact that Tony was restless every time they had a fight. Subtle things,  _ little _ things, insignificant to the eyes of those who didn’t know him well enough, but that spoke volumes to her. 

Tony would usually and unknowingly bring him up in conversation, his attempts of making it look like a casual mention growing more and more feeble with each passing day. Pepper spent a decent amount of time telling herself she was just being paranoid. It’s easier to believe it’s all in your head when the alternative completely escapes your control. Falling in love is not something one sets out to do, neither is it something that can be stopped once it happens. So she had to be seeing things where there were none.

But then Tony grew more and more distant, both physically and emotionally, coinciding with the fact that he started spending more and more time with him. Even after the team relocated to the Avengers Compound in upstate New York, Tony spent most of the time out there. It was the day she came home, to the Tower, after a long day at the L.A. office and heard the shower running in the bathroom of their bedroom, when she heard Tony quietly moan  _ his _ name through the closed door that she realized: this wasn’t paranoia anymore. She heard him, clear as day:  _ Steve _ .

She removed her suit, put on a simple tee and slipped into the bed quietly, faking being asleep when she heard him step out of the bathroom. He whispered her name quietly to check if she was awake and sighed heavily when he got no response, getting in bed and turning the light off. He stayed on his side, as far away as possible, just like he had been doing for a long time now. She didn’t get a minute of sleep that night, tears falling in silence as the truth sank in and the hours ticked by. She tried to go on as if nothing had changed, but she quickly realized that was not going to be an option. He loved her, she knew that, but not in the same way he loved him. It was pretty painfully obvious that Tony was in complete denial regarding the issue. He either wanted to ignore it or was clueless about his own feelings, but regardless, this was a situation she could no longer tolerate. 

The day Pepper Potts decides to tell Tony Stark she can no longer be in a relationship with him, it’s a completely mediocre Sunday afternoon. She goes down to the workshop, suitcase ready upstairs, and puts the code in to access the room. She mentally goes over her speech as AC/DC blasts loudly through the speakers, so when she does finally speak, she has to raise her voice.

“Tony?”

“Yes?”

“This isn’t working out.”

He finally snaps his head up from where he’s tinkering with the emergency gauntlet-watch. 

“What?”

Pepper just smiles softly at him. “Glad I could finally get your attention.”

He purses his lips and points a finger at her. “That’s extortion.”

“This is not a joke, Tony. I  _ am _ leaving.”

“For DC, yeah. You told me about that.”

“L.A., actually” she corrects him, “and that’s not what I meant.”

He gives up with a sigh and leans back heavily on his chair. “What do you mean, then?”

“You promised, Tony.” She shakes her head, brows frowned in something that looks like pain. “You promised you’d stop…”

“I have stopped!” He lifts his arms as to prove his point.

“Look around you! No, you haven’t.”

The workshop of the Tower  _ is, _ in fact, busy as usual. His new suits stand behind closed glass cases on the wall in front of him while DUM-E is on smoothie duty.

“This is… It’s not like before. I’m just making some portable suits, you know, in case-”

“Yeah, Tony, that’s it.  _ In case _ . There’s  _ always _ going to be a next possible threat, therefore you will  _ always _ have an excuse.” Pepper walks towards him. “You will never stop, Tony, and this… I can’t do it anymore.” She stops in front of him and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I need out.”

Tony frowns at her like she’s not even speaking English at all. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Before he can say anything else, she speaks.

“You’ve only grown more and more distant since New York, Tony.” He tries to speak but she shushes him. “No, please, listen. I know what you’re going to say: the PTSD, the anxiety… and I get it, I really do.” Her voice is soft and genuine. “But I  _ know _ you, maybe even better than you know yourself, and this isn’t about that. It’s not really about the suits or the avenging, either.” 

“Pep, I’m-”

“You won’t even touch me anymore, Tony.”  _ Well, that hurted _ . She closes her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ve known for a while now… I’m not who-” she stops herself, struggling with the next word. “I’m not what you need, Tony. And this isn’t what I need, either.” She bends down and kisses him on the cheek and her eyes are wet when she backs away to give him a last smile. “I love you. I  _ always _ will. Call me when you figure it out and I’ll be there, as a friend.” 

Tony watches in shock as she walks away. He has to say something, something to stop her from leaving but… the words just don’t come. She turns just give him a last sad smile “Goodbye, Tony.”

***

_ Took you like a shot _

_ Thought that I could chase you with a cold evening _

_ Let a couple years waterdown how I'm feeling about you _

Some would say Natasha Romanoff’s most impressive skill is her fighting abilities. They’d be dead wrong. No, what makes Natasha a deadly opponent is how incredibly good she is at reading people. It’s something that can be trained, obviously, but she’s also just naturally gifted at being very observant and quickly figuring out someone’s motives and thoughts. Reading the terrain, as it were.

When she started working with Steve Rogers as part of SHIELD’s special ops STRIKE team, she was fast at picking up Steve’s personality. Quiet, practical, strategic, charismatic… a natural born leader with a strong moral compass. Stubborn, too, and courageous bordering stupidity. She understood perfectly why his personality collided with Tony’s so hard, having spent her fair amount of time around Stark when she was working undercover at SI. However, there were details about Steve that were a little bit harder to pick up on. She started by casually testing a theory and periodically suggesting him options for possible dates. He kept dodging every single one, sometimes using humor, sometimes just being outright honest and confessing he had no interest at all. 

Her suspicions had been confirmed the day she had to kiss him to avoid being spotted by Rumlow and his team in a crowded mall. Natasha wasn’t unaware of the effect she could have on men, and when she kissed Steve, she knew for certain. There was a reason he avoided the whole dating thing and it wasn’t because he was busy at all. She did what she usually does when she acquires new important information on someone around her: kept it to herself. Then when she released all the SHIELD files, which lead to the downfall of the new HYDRA and the Avengers team assembled once again. At first, Steve had been reluctant to relocate to the Stark Tower and Nat had thought it was because he didn’t feel comfortable being in a place that was not his own. Tony tried extra hard to be nice to Steve, setting up his quarters as an exact replica of his old apartment, providing every possible art supply he could ever need - and it wasn’t like at the time they had much free time. Natasha watched, wincing, as Tony did  _ Tony _ and Steve grew more and more uncomfortable as he kept being… sort of doted on. She knew what was going on, obviously. Steve was a simple guy, humble, had been poor as a child: all these grandiose gestures made him want to crawl out of his skin. And Tony, the most clueless man she’d ever met when it came to understanding human emotion, simply didn’t notice. 

She offered to talk to Tony for him and Steve’s blood drained from his face. He panicked and started mumbling that there was nothing to talk to Tony about! That reaction was way too visceral and defensive to be about furniture, so Natasha changed her focus of observation and realized it had nothing to do with the Tower at all. And Steve wasn’t uncomfortable _ , _ he was  _ tense _ .  _ Restrained.  _ Specifically around Tony.

The way Steve flinched when the other man touched him, how he quickly got a grip of himself when he smiled at him for too long, the long sighs that would sometimes leave him when Tony left the room, like he’d been holding his breath. 

When she finally confronted Steve about it, he predictably and vehemently denied it, but she let him know she’d be there for him if he needed to talk. Something softened in Steve’s expression and just before he left the room he whispered a ‘thank you’, basically confirming what Nat already knew. Steve had feelings for Tony.

She watched from afar as their relationship grew and morphed into what they tried to disguise as friendship. Fools. Tony, too. She could tell the genius had grown fond of Steve, and not in a brotherly way. It was almost painful watching them dance around this, pretending for each other’s sake that their feelings were nothing but comradery. Nat usually sighed and shook her head at the most obvious exchanges, but she kept her distance.

Human relationships are just like any other natural phenomenon. You can’t make plants grow faster, you can’t speed up the seasons and you can’t force two dumbasses to realize they love each other. They had to come to their conclusions on their own.

She thinks about this as she sits in the compound’s conference room, where Sam is mercilessly teasing Steve while she smirks, no intention of stopping this either.

“What about… Stella, is it? Maria’s assistant?”

“She’s pretty cute.” Natasha knows Steve has no interest in women whatsoever, but she enjoys the pink blush that spreads through her friend’s cheeks.

“Can we  _ focus _ , please?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, eyeing disapprovingly at Natasha and Sam. “Also, what is it with the obsession of finding me a date?”

“You’re  _ the _ bachelor, Steve!” Sam says loudly. He pulls his hands up as if framing some imaginary sign. “‘The great Captain America’. Gotta take advantage of that, man.”

“Well, I’m  _ busy _ .” Steve simply says and he carefully avoids Natasha’s piercing look to his right.

“It’s a lost cause, Sam, we might as well get back to work.” She laughs and puts her feet off the desk to grab the tablet.

“Thank you” the super soldier nods in her direction, still not meeting her gaze, eyes glued to the Stark Pad. 

When the meeting is over and the conference room of the compound clears out, Steve sighs and grabs everything from the table.

“You should stop doing this to yourself, you know?”

He would have been scared by her voice coming from behind him if he didn’t know her sneaky moves so well.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“They broke up” Nat interrupts him. “Like, four months ago. That’s why he’s been around more often.”

That catches Steve’s interest, making him turn around and look at Natasha, wide eyed. 

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Of course he didn’t tell you. It’s  _ Tony _ .”

Steve looks back to the data in front of him and resumes picking up the stuff. “Well, he seems to be doing fine, doesn’t he? And that’s all that matters.”

“Still” Natasha gets out of her shady corner and walks towards him, “this weekend you’ll be the only ones in the compound. You should do something together.”

She winks at him before she leaves the room.


	2. Black Roses Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries, Tony struggles.

_ Drowning in my loneliness _

_ How long must I hold my breath _

_ So much emptiness inside I could fill the deepest sea _

The elevator doors slide open and Tony absentmindedly makes his way into the living room, gaze still fixed on the screen of his StarkPad. His attention is only shifted when he catches a delicious smell coming from the kitchen area. It smells like home and grandma’s hugs.

He frowns and looks up only to find a very shirtless and slightly sweaty Steve, wearing only jeans and an  _ apron _ , his bare back exposed in all its muscly glory. Tony wants to alert him of his presence since the blond is heavily concentrated on the stove in front of him and apparently hasn’t noticed his arrival, but Tony finds himself at a loss for words at the sight.  _ Damn.  _ He seriously needs to get laid.

Steve turns around to grab something from the kitchen island and when he spots him, he jumps a little, startled.

“Good heavens, Tony! You scared me!”

Tony is still struggling to regain basic brain functions and can’t seem to close his mouth or form coherent sentences, his gaze shamelessly roaming through Steve’s upper body. 

The good captain suddenly realizes what a sight he must present and blushes furiously. He hovers his arms awkwardly in front of him, undecided as to what to do until he finally settles for crossing them over his chest. This does nothing to help Tony’s mesmerized state because suddenly his biceps look  _ humongous. _ The man clearly has no self awareness regarding his physique and Tony finds that endearing and outrageous in equal measure.

“Uh- I-” he hardly feels like a genius now. He clears his throat and mentally slaps himself in an effort to regain some self control. “Wh-what are you doing?”

The shade of Steve’s cheeks is now somewhere between crimson and burgundy. 

“I- well, I thought I’d cook us dinner since we’re the only ones at the compound and- uh, it’s hot.” He turns around and points his thumb at the kitchen and when he faces him again, he grabs the back of his neck and lowers his gaze, obviously uncomfortable. “I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting you to come up from the lab so early.”

“Oh! Oh, ok. Yeah, dinner. Dinner sounds good.”

_ Jesus Christ, Stark, get a fucking grip. _

“Ah- okay. Great.” Steve flashes him a nervous smile and turns around to keep working. 

Tony comes closer to bend over the kitchen island, bracing himself on his elbows and takes advantage of this new perspective to  _ really _ look at Steve. The hypnotizing manner in which his well defined muscles flex as he moves around the kitchen, the sinful way the light touches his creamy skin pearled in sweat and makes it gleam. He’s already getting well fed, alright. 

Steve can  _ feel _ Tony’s gaze fixed on him creating an uncomfortable itch on the back of his neck, so he turns around and now it’s Tony’s turn to look away embarrassed. 

“Hey, you need some help with that?” Tony asks casually, lifting himself off the ceramic surface. 

“Uh-” Steve’s expression is a mixture of concern and fear.

“Seriously, Steve?” Tony says tilting his head to the side and faking exhasperation. “I’m a tech genius, I can handle some home cooking.”

This only grants him a quirked eyebrow and a smirk from the blond, who returns his attention to the stove.

“Really? How come we’ve never had the pleasure of tasting any of your delicacies, then?”

“Being bitchy doesn’t suit you, Rogers” he circles the counter and comes to stand next to Steve. “And also, that’s a blatant lie. I’ve made plenty of omelettes.”

Steve laughs sarcastically while stirring the pot.

“Yeah, I remember that  _ one _ time you made  _ an _ omelette for  _ yourself _ and by the time you were done it looked like a family of raccoons had invaded the kitchen.”

“I resent that” Tony says, leaning over the counter. The smell of… whatever the hell Steve is cooking hits his nostrils and he feels his mouth watering. 

He’s astonished when he realizes that the apron Steve’s wearing has words printed on it. He wonders how he could have possibly missed that and then remembers what he was looking at earlier. It suddenly makes sense that he wouldn’t have spot it. 

“What are you  _ wearing _ ?”

“Uh?” Steve looks at him and follows his gaze to the apron. “Oh!” the blush is back and Tony finds himself smiling, terribly entertained. “Sam thought it was funny--”

Tony leans forward a little to read the phrase and bursts out laughing.

“Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?  _ Seriously _ ?” he wipes a tear off the corner of his eye, still laughing. “Did Sam also tell you to take off your clothes while wearing it for full effect?”

He laughs again harder, amused by his own joke and Steve shoots him an annoyed look. 

“Is this your idea of helping out? Because if so, feel free to leave. And order take out, because you’re not having any of this.”

Tony forces himself to stop laughing with a loud sigh. 

“Oh Cap, don’t be so sensitive! It’s just a joke.” Tony places a hand over his naked shoulder and feels Steve tensing underneath his touch. He grins mischievously and leans over to whisper: “Besides, you really  _ do _ look good in it.”

Steve stops breathing at the feeling of Tony’s warm breath ghosting over his skin and he swallows harshly.  _ Damn him _ . The brunette pats him on the back and leaves his side, walking towards the fridge.

“How about I hand you a frosty cold one as an apology, hm?”

Steve grunts in response and purses his plump lips.

Tony grins, knowing that’s all he’s going to get for an answer so he proceeds to get a beer and open it, setting it on the counter next to the stove. Steve reluctantly grabs it - not before he shoots Tony an irritated look - and takes a sip.

“Aren’t you getting one too?” he asks, suspicious.

“Nah, beer is for peasants. I only drink the good stuff.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“That’s rude, Tony.”

“So what are you cooking for m-  _ us _ on this fine evening, Captain?” Tony ignores him, making his way to the bar and fixing himself a drink of ‘the good stuff’.

“Pot roast,” Steve says with a sigh, bringing his attention back to the boiling mix and dipping a wooden spoon in it. He lifts it to his lips and carefully blows on it, then tastes the broth. “Although you might not like it, it’s very common amongst  _ peasants _ .”

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t  _ trying _ to be an arrogant ass.” Tony grabs his drink and throws some ice into it before he walks back to the kitchen area. “I was born this way.”

“Now  _ that _ is a lie.”

Steve keeps his eyes glued to the pot when Tony leans his back against the counter next to him. He hears the ice clicking when the man lifts his drink and hears Tony let out a humming sound, contemplative.

“Not too long ago you were the one telling me how much of a selfish bastard I am.”

Steve stops stirring and lets out a sigh.

“That was before I— I didn’t know you well enough back then.” He sounds ashamed and Tony lifts an eyebrow, surprised, although Steve can’t see that because his gaze is still fixed on the stove. “I was way out of line… and you did make the sacrifice play when you carried that nuke through the wormhole, proving me wrong. I guess I never got a chance to talk it out with you but- I’m sorry about that, Tony. I wish I could take it back, I really do.”

The brunette is suddenly as speechless as when he first walked in the kitchen, but for an entirely different reason this time. Steve looks… genuinely sorry.  _ Sad _ , even. Tony has the sudden urge to grab his shoulders, turn him around and tell him it’s okay. That, in fact, he  _ is _ an asshole most of the time, usually as a defense mechanism because his social skills suck and he doesn’t know how to deal with people. He finds himself wishing he could pull Steve into a hug too—

He shakes that thought away and settles for his usual invisible suit of armor: humor.

“Hey,” he gives Steve a playful nudge “no hard feelings, Winghead.”

Steve half smiles at the pot and keeps stirring.

The silence between them is starting to make Tony uneasy because it feels like there are  _ emotions _ floating in the air and that’s intolerable.

“So...” Tony turns to face the stove, glass in his hand “how come you make such a good housewife?”

Steve blushes a deep shade of red.

“That’s sexist.”

“Says the guy from the 1940’s.”

“Even  _ I, _ the guy from the 1940’s, know that’s sexist.”

“It’s a  _ joke _ .”

“It’s a  _ bad one _ .”

Tony sighs.

“Fine. How come you know your way around the kitchen?”

Steve smiles triumphantly.

“See? It wasn’t so hard to word it so it doesn’t offend anyone, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony mumbles under his breath.

Steve has enhanced hearing so Tony knows he’s heard him, but he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, letting it slide.

“My mom taught me.”

Tony goes stiff and hesitates. Steve  _ never _ talks about his mother. “Got hit, couldn’t shake it,” was all he used to describe her passing away, for god’s sake. Again, he sucks at dealing with people so he resorts to taking another sip of his drink, stalling. Surprisingly, this prompts Steve.

“We didn’t have much back then and this is… well, it’s a cheap dish.” He takes another sip of his beer and grabs something from the cabinet above his head. “I was sick most of the time so I was around the house when she cooked. I would stand by her side and watch her... I guess some of it stuck.”

Tony is feeling all sorts of uncomfortable. He doesn’t do sad backstory. He doesn’t do  _ feelings _ at all. At the same time, he can’t help the warm sensation in his chest. Steve is opening up to  _ him _ of all people and that feels nice. Uncomfortable, but nice.

“Well, uh-” there it is again, the inability to create sentences without tripping over his own words. “It does smell nice.”

Tony cringes inside. It was always astonishingly frustrating to realize how, when it comes to connecting with other human beings, he’s an absolute mess. Interestingly enough, Steve shoots him a genuine smile.

“Thanks” he shyly looks away and Tony could swear that’s contentment he sees on his face. Steve grabs the spoon, dips it into the broth and blows on it before cupping his free hand underneath it and approaches him. “Here.”

Suddenly something inside Tony is screaming. The gesture is so intimate, so  _ domestic _ . Steve is way too close for comfort now and Tony just wants to run to the other side of the room because this feels so… so…

_ Right _ .

“Uh- I’m sure it’s great!” He backs away and instantly regrets it because something gloomy falls over Steve’s face.

He watches in horror as the blond turns away, a hurt expression poorly concealed, and throws the spoonful of broth back into the pot with a sigh.

Tony wants to apologize but he can’t help the feeling that if he does, that’s just going to make the situation even weirder. The moment passes him by though, because Steve speaks.

“This is almost done.” The tone of his voice is suddenly cold and detached and Tony considers summoning the Iron Man armor and kick himself with it. “I’m going to run to my room and get a clean shirt. You don’t have to do anything else,” he says as he undoes the apron and turns away without ever meeting the other man’s gaze, “just please don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

By the time Tony decides what to do, the elevator doors are already closing and Steve’s bare back is disappearing behind them. He mumbles a curse. 

_ Idiot _ !

***

When Steve comes back to the main floor, he panics. The pot is gone and so is Tony. He walks straight to the kitchen area.

“Tony? Tony!”

“Out here!”

Steve frowns. It’s Tony’s voice coming from the terrace. He walks out of the glass doors and he can’t believe his eyes.

Tony is hunched over one of the small outdoor tables, which is covered with a tablecloth, pouring the pot roast over two bowls. The napkins have been neatly folded underneath the silverware, a couple of delicate glasses sit opposite each other and there’s an uncorked bottle of one of Tony’s expensive Italian red wines. A single white candle lights the table surface. Steve is speechless.

“Tony?”

“Oh, hey.” He greets him with a soft smile and continues to focus on serving the food, deep in concentration so he won’t pour any out of the bowls. “So I thought, you know, you’ve been such a good sport making dinner and all, well- It’s nice outside tonight, isn’t it? So I thought you might enjoy eating here instead.”

Steve can feel a big lump in his throat and suddenly his eyes prickle. He knows Tony well enough by now to know this is an apology. Or at least, as close as Tony Stark will ever get to actually saying the words ‘I am sorry’.

“It- It’s beautiful, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony straightens up and waves a dismissive hand.

“Don’t even mention it. Come on, sit down.” He points at one of the chairs and then makes his way to the kitchen to return the now empty pot. He yells from inside so he can hear him: “I’m starving and you’ve taken forever only to come back in one of your two-sizes-too-small white t-shirts!”

Steve takes a seat and looks at the sunset - the sky is blue and pink and gold and gorgeous - and then back to the glass doors. When Tony comes back, he doesn’t realize he’s still smiling.

“What are you smirking at?” Tony says with a frown as he sits down in front of him.

“Nothing.”

But Steve doesn’t stop smiling. He can’t.

By the time they’re finished eating, the sun has gone down and there’s barely any light left. Tony asks JARVIS to turn the terrace lights on. It’s a very soft, golden gleam and it goes perfectly with the tranquility of the compound’s surroundings, the only sound being the low chirp of crickets in the distance and the breeze moving the branches of the trees. Tony fills both their glasses of wine - first Steve's, then his own.

“This was very nice, Tony.” Steve says, lifting the glass to his lips. “We should do it more often.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony drinks a sip too, his left arm over the back of the chair and his body slightly turned towards the view - now completely dark - of the woods and the Hudson. “Maybe we should.”

They just stay like that, sipping their wine and enjoying the stillness and the silence. It occurs to Steve that it’s really hard to find someone to share  _ silence _ with. For most people, silence is something uncomfortable they have to quickly get rid of, and so they make small talk. They would rather talk about something meaningless than share a moment of silence. He looks at the man in front of him and finds himself quietly grateful that their relationship has evolved to a point that they don’t need the small talk, they can just enjoy each other’s presence without falling into pointless pleasantries. That little detail, perhaps imperceptible to others, is very important to Steve. It means Tony is starting to relax around him. He takes advantage of the serenity of the moment and marvels in the way the golden glow of the outdoor lights hits Tony’s features. 

The modern styling of his hair almost makes you forget he’s well into his forties, and you probably would if it wasn't for the look in his eyes. He has the expression of a man who’s seen too much, suffered too much. Sometimes, like in this very moment, when Steve catches him with his guard down he can see into those beautiful big brown eyes the soul of a man who’s still in pain over things that were, things that are and things that have not yet happened but fears he won’t be able to foresee. There is an elegance to his anguish that is fascinating to behold. His meticulously groomed goatee helps frame his well defined jaw and encases his soft lips, like a well-cared garden around an alluring fountain. Tony is just  _ beautiful _ .

Steve sighs, too focused on his silent admiration for the gorgeous man sitting across the table to restrain himself and the sound catches Tony’s attention.

He turns to face him and studies Steve with those piercing eyes of his, narrowing them, tilting his head slightly to the side. Steve has been around Tony long enough to know what every look and move means. He has the same expression as when he’s locked up in his lab, working on his blue screens. Steve is a  _ problem _ and he’s trying to  _ solve _ it.

He smiles at him, knowingly.

“Figured me out yet?”

Tony’s mouth opens slightly and it’s just a flicker in his eyes that lasts for a second but Steve can see it. He’s surprised.

“Pardon?”

“You sometimes give me that look. That  _ evaluating _ look.”

“You  _ sighed, _ " he says, elongating the word, then proceeds to bend forward, resting his elbows on the table and narrows his eyes. "I was trying to guess where that came from.”

“You could just ask, you know.”

“You’d lie,” Tony replies, instantly.

Steve frowns. He can’t help feeling a little hurt even though he knows it’s not personal, it’s just Tony being his cynical self.

“I would never lie to you, Tony.”

“Bullshit.” He leans back against the chair, folding his arms over his chest as he turns slightly to the side and looks away. “Everybody lies.”

Breaking eye contact, putting space between him and the other person… clearly signs that he’s subconsciously trying to protect himself from what he feels as an outside threat. He does that a lot, Steve’s noticed. Natasha had been teaching him where to look for and how to recognize these subtle details, training him to read people’s emotions through their body language.

“I don't,” he answers with a tired sigh. He hates it when Tony shuts down on him.

Tony looks at him and turns his body to face him, his chin tilted up.  _ Defiance _ , Steve reads.

“Okay.” He tries to infuse amusement into his tone and Steve knows what’s coming before the words leave his lips. “Then what  _ were _ you thinking about?”

_ This could be it, Steve _ , he hears Peggy’s voice with her sweet british accent in his head.  _ You could tell him, let him know how you feel. Wouldn’t it be better? To know for sure? _

He can’t lie to him.

But he can’t exactly tell him the truth, either. 

In fact, Steve had given his predicament a great deal of thought - mostly during long sleepless nights - and he had carefully predicted the possible outcomes. 

Option A: Tony may not have any feelings for him, in which case, the situation would be both painful (for Steve) and awkward (for both). Option B: Tony is only interested in him sexually. Steve will obviously decline the offer of a casual one-night stand, since he  _ does _ have feelings for Tony and that would, for lack of a better term, hurt like a bitch. Option C: Best case scenario, where Tony does have feelings for him and they try to make it work, but there’s always the question of ‘what if it doesn’t?’. Steve couldn’t risk the relationship falling apart and affecting the team. That could compromise them in the battlefield, thus putting civilians’ lives at risk. The Avengers sticking together had to be a priority above all else.

Whatever happened, he was doomed.

_ You do realize there is option D, don’t you?  _ Peggy’s voice reminded him in a reprimanding tone. 

He wished the thought away. There was no point in entertaining a one in a billion possibility that depended on so many things which he had no control over.

“Well?” Tony says, growing impatient. “What’s the matter, Cap? Mr. Righteousness can’t come up with a decent lie?”

Steve sighs, defeated.

“I was thinking about you.”

There’s a heavy silence that follows until Tony lets out a snort and lifts a brow.

“Really? What about me?”

_ Tell him, Steve. _

He holds Tony’s gaze, considering his choices. Strategizing. After all, he was, and will always be a soldier at heart.

_ This is not the time for calculated decisions, Steve. The matters of the heart are not to be dealt with as if you were planning an attack on a Hydra base. _

Tony tilts his head, faking amusement. Steve knows better. The way his muscles tense beneath his shirt, the tightness around his eyes, the almost imperceptible lack of movement in his chest - he’s holding his breath. It almost looks like he’s waiting for something… or dreading it.

Steve won’t lie to Tony. That doesn’t mean he has to tell the whole truth, either.

“I was thinking I’m glad we’re friends now.”

_ Oh, you bloody coward. _

Tony visibly relaxes and lets out a - probably unconscious - sigh.

“Damn, Cap.” He laughs, and Steve can detect the nervousness underneath. “A little dinner by candlelight and you’re already going all soft and sweet on me?”

Steve lowers his gaze and laughs softly, pretending he finds the joke funny because he knows that will ease Tony’s tension a little. 

“You know me, I’m easily dazzled,” he says, shaking his head with a lopsided smile on his face.

“Well,” Tony downs his glass of wine in one gulp “soldier down!” he says as he stands up and starts getting the dishes.

“I've got that, don’t worry,” Steve quickly stops him waving a hand in the air.

Tony smiles - his cheeks are a little red. It makes Steve feel frustrated with his own body because he can’t get drunk and he would really like to right now.

“Suit yourself!” the brunette says, throwing his hands in the air as a sign of defeat. He starts walking towards the glass door but when he realizes Steve isn’t following, he turns around. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Steve eyes the dark woods, the river before him, and takes a deep breath.

“I think I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

Suddenly Tony seems hesitant and Steve indulges in a small moment of hope, thinking the man will change his mind and decide to keep him company for a little longer. But hope had always been a foolish thing to have.

“Ok, then,” Tony walks away and waves a hand above his shoulder. “Night, Cap!”

The glass doors slide behind him and Steve is left with nothing but his resignation, the sound of the crickets and the moving branches lulled by the wind. 

“Good night, Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are immensely appreciated. Thank you, xx


	3. Stone Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has unhealthy ways of dealing with his emotions and Steve is a tad jealous.

_ You see me standing, but I'm dying on the floor _

_ Maybe if I don't cry, I won't feel anymore _

He feels a shudder as the knuckles make contact with the punching bag and the sound echoes through the big, empty compound gym. 

He had managed to keep it together, if he said so himself. Tony had gone back to Malibu for a few days. “You can call me in if there’s an emergency” he had said, gotten into his armor and flown away. No explanations, no additional information on his sudden decision to leave. Steve had been preoccupied. He had wanted to call him, text him, _ do something_. But every time he picked up the phone, something had stopped him. It felt intrusive somehow. Yes, they were closer now than they had been before - not that that was a big accomplishment considering where their relationship had started - but that didn’t seem like a good enough reason to just call him out of the blue to ask if something was going on. So he would put the phone down, clenching his fists, resisting his urge to check up on him. Until the perfect excuse had presented itself: Fury had called an Avengers meeting, something about debriefing them on new intel they had acquired on an important arms dealing organization they’d been tracking for a while now. It was short notice, so they’d figured they would just video call Tony. 

“Hi, Nick,” he had greeted them with deliberate fake enthusiasm. “I woke up this morning with a strange feeling in my stomach. At first I thought it was the hangover, now I can see it was my body trying to warn me about this...” — Fury narrowed his eyes in warning — “...pleasant surprise.” 

In the conference room of the compound, JARVIS had projected the screen where Tony would usually sit. Steve and Sam sat to his right and Nat, Clint and Rhodey to his left. Fury, as usual, stood across from Tony. Or in this case, the screen. 

“You could at least put on a robe, Stark,” Fury had said, unimpressed by the fact that Tony had answered the video call in only a tank top and underwear, sitting on the side of his bed. 

Steve had tried really hard not to eye the screen in a lustful way, keeping his gaze either on the documents in front of him or his own lap.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve given me much of a heads up.”

Tony’s protests had been quickly ignored by Fury, who’d moved onto the actual debriefing, clearly wanting to end the meeting as soon as possible. Steve had to use all his willpower to stay focused on the man as he spoke because the only thing he’d wanted to do was turn to his left and look at Tony. It had been three days and it was scary how much he’d missed the guy.

Then suddenly, there’d been a voice in the background. A male voice. Steve had snapped his head in the screen’s direction and his gut clenched in an uncomfortable knot. 

Some random, blond, tall, muscular guy in the background of Tony’s bedroom, stepping out of a door dripping wet, in nothing but a small towel wrapped low around his hips. 

“Hey Tony, d’you mind if-”

To Steve, it had felt like the whole compound had suddenly started shaking. Time had stopped and so had his lungs. It felt like diving into extremely cold water: a harsh, crippling sensation of pain and an inability to move a single muscle. Tony had just turned around slightly, his expression barely registering any change at all. 

“Kind of in the middle of something!”

The guy had quickly realized his mistake and walked away as Tony faced the screen again.

“Sorry about that. Go on, Nickie.”

And right there, for a second, in a blink-and-miss moment, his eyes landed on Steve. Not on Nat, Clint, Rhodey or Sam. _ Steve _. 

But the Captain had been quick to turn his head back to Fury even though he couldn’t help the clenched jaw that settled in and he still hadn’t been able to get rid of.

It was stupid. He knew Tony was anything but chaste. However, seeing it with his own eyes…

He punches the bag again, relishing on the burn in the skin of his clenched fist.

_Tall._

Punch. 

_ Blond. _

Punch. Punch.

_ Muscular. _

Punch.

** _Random_ ** _ . _

The last punch throws the bag across the room and the sand spreads through the floor of the gym. 

He doesn’t want to think about it. Yet it’s all he’s been able to think about since this morning’s meeting. 

_ What do they have that I don’t? _

“You know,” her soft, slightly amused voice startles him much less than it should, “that’s not gonna help.”

Steve lets out a ragged breath and looks down at the destroyed punching bag.

“It’s relaxing.”

“I can _ see _ that.” Natasha steps into the room and looks down at the mess, a sarcastic smirk on her face. Steve is careful to avoid her gaze while he grabs another bag from the floor so she takes that as permission to go on. “Are you gonna keep punching the shit out of those, or would you rather talk about it?”

“Nothin’ to talk ‘bout,” Steve says as he hangs the bag and takes position. 

Punch_ . _

“I saw you in there.”

Silence. Punch. Punch.

“You were angry. You _ are _ angry.”

Particularly hard punch. More silence.

“Steve--” 

PUNCH_ . _

“What do you want me to say, Nat?” He turns around, frustrated. 

The concern in her expression only makes it worse. 

“I want you to be honest with yourself, Steve” she says, matter-of-factly. “I want you to be able to say ‘I was jealous and pissed off’ because you trust me, because we’re _ friends _.” 

He looks at her as she sits down in a nearby bench, carefully, like she’s facing a scared animal that could run away at any moment without warning. She knows Steve keeps everything personal - especially feelings - to himself because he has the ‘I’ll deal with my own stuff because it’s nobody’s business but mine’ kind of attitude, so this has to be approached cautiously. 

“I--” Steve really doesn’t want to talk about it but it has nothing to do with trust. He fears if he says it out loud, it’ll become too real to ignore, and he wants to forget what he saw. It hurts a little less if he avoids it. “There’s no reason for me to be angry at Tony.” 

“There’s no _ rational _ reason for you to be angry at Tony, but feelings aren’t rational, Steve” she looks at him with a soft, empathic gaze. “I get it. I really do.” 

“You don’t _ do _ feelings at all.” 

“And neither does Tony. That’s why I always see right through him.”

Steve frowns at that and approaches the bench to sit down next to her, suddenly interested. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Steve,” she sighs “you guys had dinner the other night, right?” Steve nods. “What happened the _ day _after?” 

She’s using that socratic method he profoundly hates because it’s always very effective. He knows there’s no fighting it though, Nat won’t leave it alone. 

“He left for Malibu.” 

“He left for Malibu,” she repeats, confirming the fact. “And a few days later, we contact him and there’s a half-naked _ blond jock _in his bedroom.” Steve winces at that, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because Tony likes sleeping with everything that moves.” He can hear the bitterness and jealousy in his own voice, and he hates it.

“Does he, really?” Natasha tilts her head and narrows her eyes, a soft smile on her face, like she knows something Steve doesn’t. 

“Of course. ‘Genius, billionaire, _ playboy, _ philanthropist’, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.” She looks down at her nails, inspecting them. “How many one-night stands have you seen Tony bring to the compound, though?” 

“I--” Steve stops abruptly. He goes back as far as he can, searching through his memory for an unfamiliar face in an oversized t-shirt clutching a coffee mug. He frowns. “Well, uh--” 

Natasha smiles. 

“Can’t think of any?”

Steve looks at her, stunned, and lowers his gaze, still trying to remember. 

“Maybe we didn’t see them--”

“I’ll tell you why you can’t think of any.” Nat cuts him off as she leans in, like she’s about to share a big secret. “Because there are _ none _. 

Steve’s mouth opens slightly at the realization. 

“That- but Tony--”

“Tony had earned a reputation by the time you met him, yes, but he hasn’t been living up to it. When he was with Pepper, he didn’t fuck up a single time, and now that they’ve broken up and he’s been free to have sex with whomever he wants… he still hadn’t, not until now.” Natasha leans away and lifts a brow, knowingly. “Makes you wonder _ why _, doesn’t it?”

Steve abruptly stands up and moves away from her, shaking his head. Natasha purses her lips, immediately noticing how her friend has just shut down. Walls are up, conversation is over. _ Damn it. _

“Don’t go there, Nat.” He resumes his position in front of the punching bag.

Punch_ . _

Natasha sighs and rises up from the bench, knowing defeat when she sees it. 

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” she approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder, “but ignoring the possibility that this was just Tony trying to substitute something he thinks he can’t have, doesn’t make it any less likely.” 

Steve goes stiff as a board as Nat sweetly kisses him on the cheek and turns to leave the gym. He shakes his head, willing the thought away. 

Punch_ . _

_No._

Punch. Punch. Punch.

She can’t be right. She just can’t.

***

Tony lays on his bed, the image of Steve’s clenched up jaw and condemning gaze still painfully fresh. He’s already kicked the guy out as politely as possible.

He tries to remember what happened the night before. 

He got drunk as fuck in one of those posh, exclusive LA nightclubs because fucking Steve and his fucking pot roast.

_I was thinking about you._

He needed another drink. 

_As if you could drown this in alcohol, dumbass._

He finished his expensive scotch in one sip and looked around. He saw a guy through the crowd and his intoxicated mind linked the image of his broad back and blond hair to the sight that had greeted him in the compound’s kitchen a few days ago, so he marched down to the bar. 

Tony had always had an irresistible charm and a witty sense of humor that had people wrapped around his finger in no time. This was no exception. He was pretty: blue eyes, strong features, broad shoulders and nice, toned muscles. Tony had to order more drinks every time what’s-his-face opened his mouth, though. Man, was he _ dumb _! It was hurting the illusion, because Steve was actually really smart, so Tony had quickly asked the guy to get out of there and go back to his mansion. 

He was Tony Stark, he always got his way.

They had gotten back to the house and the dude had sunk to his knees immediately, taking his cock out of his pants and blowing him off. The room was spinning. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself into the fantasy of Steve’s warm mouth, placing one hand on Steve’s strong shoulders and the other one on the back of his head as it bobbed up and down. He remembers moaning a lot - had he said Steve’s name at one point? - and coming with a loud cry. Relief and content had washed over him for a brief second, until he had looked down and his stomach had clenched in a nauseating way. He remembers pushing those feelings aside and giving the guy a quick handjob out of pure courtesy, all the time feeling completely detached from the situation, gaze lost in the darkness of his bedroom wishing it to be over as soon as possible. After what’s-his-face came, he wiped his hand and pretended to fall asleep. 

_Pathetic _.

When Fury’s message had woken them up, the guy had asked if he could shower before he left and Tony has never been a complete asshole, contrary to popular belief, so he’d said yes. And then the goddamn conference call. 

He tried not to think about it but Steve’s look of disappointment and anger was embedded in his mind like a tiny splinter under the skin. Everytime he brushed past the memory it stung like a bitch. He knew what Steve thought about one-night stands and his _ playboy _ life. He’d been trying to distance himself from that image, subconsciously trying to make Steve see him as something other than a slutty manwhore who would get in the sack with anyone that glanced his way. It had never seem to make much of a difference to Steve that he stopped fooling around, but he hadn’t even been in the mood for it the past few months regardless. He’d been starting to notice a shift in his preferences when it came to checking out people, too. They were always blond, tall, strong guys. Preferably with light blue eyes. It took Tony an embarrassing amount of time for a genius to put two and two together, but once he did, that’s all he could see when he looked at them: Captain fucking America. 

Tony growls and runs his hand through his hair. 

Why?! Why did he have to have a stupid school-girl crush on Steve “I’m practically perfect in every way” Rogers? He was a grown ass man for Christ’s sake! 

He closes his eyes with a sigh and as soon as he does, he sees Steve’s face full of disapproval and his outraged flared nostrils. He wants to punch him for some reason.

***

Steve knows Tony’s landed in the compound. JARVIS warns him, just as he explicitly asked the AI to do the minute Tony announced he was coming back. 

He’s gonna do everything in his power to avoid the bastard because he’s pretty sure if he runs into him, he’ll Captain-America-kick his tiny, irritatingly round ass into oblivion and he’s not sure how he’s going to explain _ why _ he’s done that without giving too much away. 

Steve is painfully aware that if he acts hostile towards Tony, the other man is going to have absolutely no fucking clue as to what is going on, because the last time they saw each other they were having pot roast and sipping red wine by candlelight. It didn’t really make any sense for Steve to be suddenly pissed off at him, so he vowed to keep his cool.

Turns out when it comes to Tony, Steve has zero chill.

He chooses to hide in the gym because he thinks - quite rightly - that’s the last place in the compound Tony would want to go in.

He’s wrong.

Steve is deep in concentration hanging from the pull up bar, barely breaking a sweat, when he hears his voice. 

“Do you even _ have _ to work out at all?”

Captain America watches his mouth around people, but in the privacy of his own thoughts he swears like a drunken Irish man. 

_ Fucking damn hell, the goddamn bastard! _

He keeps going. He can’t stop. If he does, he’ll have to drop to the ground and turn to face him and he just _ can’t _do that right now.

“What can I do for you, Tony?” he says coldly between pull ups.

He can hear the man’s nervous laughter behind him. 

“Why so formal, Cap?”

_ Don’t you have some other pretty blond boy to stick your co- _

He hears the metal bar creak and bend slightly under his grip. He forces himself to take a deep breath, trying to remember to remain calm.

“I’m busy.”

Steve can’t see him, but he just knows Tony is taken aback by this because he falls silent and there’s no sound of footsteps. He’s just standing there, probably trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“Uh-” when Tony finally speaks, Steve’s suspicions are confirmed. He’s stammering. “Well- I just wanted to say hi, I guess.”

Steve finally lets go of the bar and his feet hit the floor with a loud, menacing thud. He turns around slowly and he instantly regrets it, because Tony’s just standing there awkwardly smiling and looking like a million bucks in one of his three piece suits. God, he wants to go over there and shake that annoying little man like a piñata. 

“Oh, so _ now _ you want to talk?” He shouldn’t be pushing this. He really shouldn’t. 

Because of course, predictably, Tony finally snaps.

“Ok, what the absolute _ fuck _, Steve?”

“Good question, _ Stark _ ,” he practically snarls. “You leave, you give no explanation as to _ why _ you’re leaving, you do not contact-” _ ME _ “any of us for days and when you come back you expect everyone to just be fine with it?”

Tony frowns in confusion, his mouth falling slightly open in disbelief. 

_ Don’t say it. Do not say it, Steve. _

“Not to mention the--” he feels his face contorting in disgust, “the _ spectacle _ during this morning’s debriefing with Fury, parading that— that _ man _ in the middle of a conference call.”

_ There you go. You just could not leave it alone, could you? _

Steve feels all the blood leave his body when Tony’s expression suddenly turns cold and he narrows his eyes, like he’s just figured out something.

“So _ that’s _ it,” he laughs bitterly. “You and your pathetic, internalized 1940’s homophobia.”

Steve notices his own nostrils flare and his hands turning into fists. He has to leave this building, _ now _, before he does something he can’t take back.

He physically bites his own tongue to prevent anything else from coming out of his big mouth and grabs the towel sitting on the bench, walking towards the door ready to storm off the gym without even looking back, but Tony in his infinite stupidity has the audacity to grab his forearm as Steve passes him by.

He practically shoves Tony into the wall to free himself from the grasp, but instead of being intimidated by this, the smaller man clenches his jaw and pulls his chin up in defiance, staring right into Steve’s eyes with utter _ disgust _.

“Wanna beat me up for being a _ fairy _ , Cap?” It’s barely a whisper, full of loathing and revulsion. “Gonna make you feel all manly to punch the faggot in the face? Go ahead, do it. Be a good ol’ American _ piece of shit _.”

Steve wants to cry. He can feel the burn behind his eyes and the tingling around the nose area.

“Let me go,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of sadness there that Tony will surely miss, because it’s Tony.

Stark holds his gaze and the grip on his forearm for a couple of seconds before he slowly releases him with a snort, shaking his head. Steve resumes walking and tries to hold back the tears as hard as he can. _ Don’t break, not yet, not here. _

“Coward!”

Tony’s shout is the last thing he hears echoing through the gym as he leaves the room. And it hurts, because it’s true. He really is a coward.


	4. HIM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony try to cool down after their fight.

_ Holy Father, we need to talk _

_ I have a secret that I can't keep _

_ I'm not the boy that you thought you wanted _

  
  


Steve runs. 

He runs because the feeling of the ground impacting his feet, the heartbeat rising, the cool breeze against his cheeks, the effort in controlling his breath- it grounds him.

_ “Get up you sissy!” _

_ Steve’s cheek feels cold against the ground. He can feel his breath coming in short pants and he starts reaching for his inhaler, panic quickly settling in his chest and making it even harder to breath.  _

_ He feels a kick landing on his left side. It’s getting harder and harder to force his lungs to fill with air.  _

He’s agile, his feet landing exactly where he wants them to, avoiding the stones and the roots of the trees as he practically flies through the woods next to the compound. As long as he keeps running, as long as he keeps his concentration on this, he doesn’t have to think about it.

_ He kneels, his boney knees protesting against the hard floor and crosses himself before bringing his shaky hands together.  _

_ “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two years since my last confession.” _

_ “Why so long, child?” _

_ Steve inhales deeply and sighs, the air dragging something heavy out of his chest in the process. _

_ “I- I lost”  _ **her** _ “my faith, Father.” _

He feels the tears still burning in his eyes, desperate to fall. He thought he would never feel emptier or more lost than he’d felt when  _ she _ died. But then he woke up in this strange, unfamiliar world that everybody told him was the same one he’d left behind but he couldn’t recognize anymore. The streets were in the same place but didn’t look anything like the ones he’d known. The people were still people but they dressed differently, talked differently,  _ lived _ differently. They kept telling him this was home but it felt nothing like it. It felt wrong. He was a whole new kind of lost.

_ “It was a lovely mass, Father.” _

_ The old man shakes his hand and offers him a smile. _

_ “I’m glad you’re back, Steve. I know your mother would have wanted you to remain on the path of righteousness.” _

_ Steve smiles back even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, which cloud at the mention of- _

_ He quickly changes the subject. _

_ “I’ve been thinking of enlisting” he avoids mentioning he’s already tried more than once, unsuccessfully.  _

_ A shadow of concern crosses the priest’s face. _

_ “Are you—” Father Crowley takes a moment, as if trying to find the right way to voice his thoughts “Is that the wise thing to do, son? Given your… situation?” _

_ Steve frowns. He knows that the priest isn’t talking about his illnesses.  _

He remembers exactly what he thought the first time the idea had popped into his mind: he grimaced to himself and pushed the thought away. He had no business thinking about his dear friend like that! Abusing his trust and his good heart, only for Steve to twist his brotherly affection up in his mind in such a depraved way. It was a disgusting thought to have and it didn’t even make sense, because he was a fella. Those were thoughts meant for a beautiful dame, preferably the one who would later be his wife. The one he would take out dancing, gift flowers to and maybe if he could ever afford it, invite to a nice dinner. He would treat her so well, Steve vowed to himself back then. He wasn’t like his father.

_ The sound of the blow and the loud thump of his mother’s body hitting the kitchen floor are muffled by the tiny hands he’s holding tightly against his ears. He’s so scared. He’s so scared of  _ ** _him_ ** _ . _

_ “You should watch that mouth, woman!” _

_ He can see her from his hiding place under the table, how she places both hands flat on the floor and pulls herself up. She’s looking at him, and there’s blood on her lip and a fire in her eyes. She slowly but decidedly grabs onto the table for support and rises up to her feet.  _

_ “I think you should go for a walk and sober up, Joseph,” he hears her say, her voice a little shaky but fierce. _

_ There’s a silence that feels like it lasts for so very long. He’s not even breathing. He’s careful not to make a sound, he doesn’t want him to hear him cry because if he hears, he might get angrier. _

_ There are footsteps and a slam of a door.  _

_ “It’s ok, darling. Come on.”  _

_ He’s quick to get out from under the table and hug her tight, his heart still racing in his chest. _

_ “Mommy, why didn’t you stay down?” _

_ She cups his face and dries his tears with her thumbs, smiling sadly. He sees something in her eyes, something he’s too young yet to put a name to. _

_ “Because, and listen to me Steven, no matter how hard you get hit, you should always get back up. Always.” _

He wanted to hate him. He really did. He’d been terrible with them both, but Steve knew it was that goddamn bottle he wouldn’t let go of. How he loathed that disgusting liquid that made every single room in the house reek. He’d sit there all day, getting drunk off his ass, sip after sip, sip after sip… gaze lost somewhere in the wall in front of him, lifeless, like a shark’s. When he was younger, he was scared of him. Then he came into his teenage years and judged him harshly, thinking of him as a weak man who let his vice take over his life, destroying it. Now that he was an adult, Steve actually pitied his father. What a horrible place his mind must have been to have to resort to drown it in liquor just to survive another day. He didn’t really cry when he died. Then again, Steve never really cried that much. He had, though, when he had lost  _ him _ . It had been the first time he’d wished he could to lull his mind to a near comatose state, to avoid thinking, to prevent remembering… because everytime he closed his eyes, he saw his terrified face as he fell to his death and he was powerless to stop it. Steve thinks he started to forgive his father that day.

_ “I can’t get drunk.” He looks down at the glass, contemplating briefly the irony of it all while sitting there in the rubble of the old pub. “Did you know that?” _

_ He tries not to remember this is the very same spot he’d been in not that long ago, having a beer with his best bud. The image of her walking into the room in that bright red dress flashes quickly through his mind. Now she’s standing there too in a much less festive outfit, quiet and observant, calculating her next words carefully. God, he admires her.  _

_ “Your metabolism burns four time faster than the average person,” she casually mentions with a sigh as she finally moves from her spot to grab a dusty chair from the floor. “He thought it could be one of the side effects.” _

_ She sits down and looks at him. Steve wants to face her but the shame he feels over his failure is too overwhelming, so he keeps avoiding her gaze and looking down at his feet. _

_ “It wasn’t your fault.” _

_ “Did you read the report?”  _

_ “Yes.” _

_ He let out a sarcastic, breathy sigh. _

_ “Then you know that’s not true.” _

_ He could have done more. He should have done more. All that strength, all those enhanced abilities and for what? What good were they if he couldn’t protect the people he loved? _

_ But the worst part was the bit that Steve could not say out loud… to anyone. And dear Lord, how it hurt. _

_ “You did everything you could.” _

_ He knows that was a lie. _

He comes out of the dense forest by the side of the river and he abruptly stops, panting. Hunching over himself and resting his hands on his knees, he closes his eyes tightly.

_ “Wanna beat me up for being a  _ fairy _ , Cap?” _

Bucky left for Europe the day after he had that fight with the guy from the theatre. He was to leave for Camp Lehigh shortly after that, and in those few days in between, it happened. He was walking back home. He should have known he’d run into him again eventually. 

_ “Gonna make you feel all manly to punch the faggot in the face?” _

He could still feel his blood boiling in anger and his hands shaking in fear. There were four of them. The guy asked where his army boyfriend was as he laughed and approached him along with his friends, backing him up against the wall of the black alley. They kept calling him names as the blows fell and all he could do was shield his body to the best of his ability and hold onto the sound of his mother’s voice:  _ “doesn’t matter how hard you get hit, Steve, you should always get back up.” _

And he did. When it all went silent and still, he dragged himself to the wall and sat up. It took him a while to regain his breath and his body ached  _ everywhere _ , but he grabbed onto the trash can next to him for support, just like Sarah had done with the kitchen table, and he rose to his feet. He limped the rest of the way back home, but he made it.

_ “Go ahead, do it. Be a good ol’ american piece of shit.” _

Steve falls knees first to the ground and punches it as hard as he can. The ripple of the brutal impact spreads from his knuckles to the rest of his arm, although he barely feels any pain. The anger and the sadness cloud everything else.

If only Tony  _ knew _ what he’d been through. In his neighborhood, at school, in the army, in the USO tour… 

But he didn’t know. 

Because Steve had never told him.

The thought of Tony thinking he was one of those-- those  _ bastards _ that beat up fellas who… It makes his stomach twist and turn in disgust and he can taste bile in the back of his throat. 

He wants to march back to the compound, sit him down and tell him he would  _ never _ lay a hand on him over his sexual preferences. Matter of fact, he wouldn’t lay a hand on him for any reason at all. 

Then he realizes what being honest with him would imply and the weight of the world falls over his shoulders again, crushing him. Because if he’s not a homophobe, then why was he angry? Tony is a smart man - far smarter than him, surely this would be his first question.

His breath stops. He’s trapped by his own fucking cowardice. 

He lets the tears he’s been holding back since he left the gym finally roll down his cheeks. 

_ “Coward!” _

***

“J, run a simulation using carbon fiber instead of lightweight titanium, will you dear?”

“Right away, Sir,” the AI’s computerized voice replies. “Running new simulation on project F-782.”

He takes a sip of coffee from his Stark Industries mug as he looks at the design for Sam’s new wings on the holoscreen and sighs, leaning back on his chair. Tony only ever used  _ that _ mug. His fellow teammates had been warned from the very beginning: they’re welcome to use whatever they want in the compound but  _ that _ mug. That’s Tony’s and Tony’s alone. For the unobservant, it seems like it’s simply another manifestation of his OCD because it looks like any other mug, quite plain actually. White, blank surface with the Stark Industries logo in black. Nothing unique to it. Not unless you  _ know _ .

_ “Tony, sit down. We need to talk, son.” _

_ “Do we  _ have  _ to do this right now, Obie?” Tony groans and grabs a SI mug that was lying around the kitchen counter and slams it on the table as he drops on the stool. The man gives him a serious look and Tony caves in. “ _ Fine _ . You better fill ‘er up, then.” _

_ Obadiah silently grabs the coffee pot and pours coffee into the mug. Tony frowns.  _

_ Usually Obie would have told him to get off his ass and do it himself, so this is weird. Something is  _ wrong _ . Tony’s breathing becomes very still, almost stopping all together, and his mind goes blank for a second, a horrible feeling of anticipation washing over him. _

_ “There’s been an accident, Tony.” _

_ Tony feels like someone’s knocked the air out of his lungs and suddenly the hangover is completely gone. _

_ “Is mom...?” _

_ “We’re already looking into it but… the road was dark, maybe Howard lost control of the car-” _

_ “Obie-” _

_ “There’s really no one to blame… and I need you to know, Tony, I’m here for-” _

_ “Obadiah, where is she?” _

_ Stane breathes deeply and his look is firm and sad.  _

_ “She’s gone, son. I’m so sorry.” _

_ Tony isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t drop to his knees in pain or dramatically cries punching the kitchen table. He’s just staring at the mug, clutching it, his mind blank. _

‘She’s gone.’

_ He wasn’t going to talk to her ever again. He would never hug her again. She would never kiss his cheek goodbye as she left for a meeting at the Foundation ever again. She would never smile at him again.  _

‘She’s gone.’

_ It’s just a simple concept and yet the most complex feeling. So he stares and stares. Everything is too much, too big, too scary and he suddenly feels very alone, so he focuses on the mug. That’s an easy task. He can just concentrate on the little dent on the inside of the border, or the way the ceramic feels underneath his touch.  _

‘She’s gone.’

“Sir, the simulation is successful.” JARVIS’ voice pulls him back to reality as he finds himself staring at it, just like he had that tuesday morning, lost in thought. “Carbon fiber should serve as a viable replacement for lightweight titanium.”

He shakes his head and tears his gaze off the coffee cup.

“Wonderful. Start building a prototype.” He rolls his chair to the other side of the table, ready to message Sam with the good news. “We’ll have Wilson try them out and then we'll make any necessary adjustments.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony mentally thanks his lucky stars that he has JARVIS right now. After what had happened earlier this morning... being here in the lab, working, talking to his AI buddy, doing what he does best, feels good. He feels safe, he feels useful. This was his safe haven and nothing could touch him in here. He was a mess at communicating with people, he sucked at personal relationships and being the face of the largest tech conglomerate on earth meant constantly wearing a mask. It was exhausting, all of it. Here, though, he could just  _ be _ Tony. He didn’t have to pretend to be someone else for anyone to like him.

_ “Daddy, daddy! Look! I’m Captain America!” _

_ He runs into the studio in navy blue tights with his little handmade circular shield, pretending to knock out invisible bad guys with it. _

_ His father is on the phone with someone and holds up a hand in the air. _

_ “Tony, not now.” _

_ He pouts in his dad’s direction. _

_ “But look, daddy! I’m a hero!” he pretends his hand is a pistol and starts 'shooting' around. “Bang, bang! Bang! Die, nazis, die!!” _

_ “TONY! I SAID NOT NOW!” his father screams at the top of his lungs. _

_ He stops dead in his tracks, his smile quickly fading from his face and replaced by sadness. He watches as Howard apologizes to the person on the other end of the line and grabs the phone from the desk, turning his big chair around. _

_ Tony runs out of the studio with tears in his eyes and when he gets to his room, he slams the door shut. He drags his feet through the carpet, dropping the shield as he sits down and hugs his knees, crying. He never has any time to play! Maybe he doesn’t even like him? That thought is painful and Tony cries harder, angrily grabbing the discarded shield and throwing it to the other side of the room. He’ll never be like Captain America. His dad really liked him, always talks about how he was the best… and Tony really wants to be like him. Maybe then, his dad would like him more and he would want to play with him. _

Tony winces at the memory, feeling shame flowing through his body. Stupid kid.

Later, when Tony had been a little over six, he realized his interest in engineering captured Howard’s attention. It had even gone as far as him actually spending some time with Tony, helping him build his first V8 engine. Tony's eyes had gleamed in pure happiness at his father’s proud look as he inspected his fine work. But then he kept growing up, learning, getting better, and as soon as Tony started excelling at it - a little bit more than Howard’s huge ego could handle - he had become distant and cold again. 

Tony had been barely ten then and he didn’t understand why his dad was pushing him away all the sudden. Was he not good enough? Was that it? So he blamed it on himself and tried harder and harder and harder to impress him. God, the  _ desperation _ to please had been soul-crushing.

“Ok, Jarvis, what else we got?” he sips his coffee, trying to get his head back into work mode, but then the new design for Steve’s suit he’d been working on comes up on the screen and it leaves him paralyzed and lost in thought again. 

Howard had always been an abusive asshole but when Tony came into his teenage years and started showing interest in boys, well, that had been the last straw for him. No son of his could possibly be queer. Stark men are made of iron! Manly, tall, muscular men. Good with the ladies.

He looks at the image of the suit and snorts bitterly. What an impossible standard to live up to. Captain  _ fucking _ America. It was painfully clear to Tony that he never did meet his father’s expectations on what he wanted his son to be. He would have wanted someone like Steve. And even to this day, Tony felt like he was somehow still  _ trying _ . 

_ “What the  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing, boy?” _

_ “Howard...” _

_ “Stay out of this, Maria!” _

_ Teenage Tony rolls his eyes and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. _

_ “What now? What have I done this time to disappoint you, dad? Please, enlighten me.” _

_ “ _ Everybody  _ saw that. That young man grop-” he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in an effort to regain some self control. “Have you no decency at all?!” _

_ Howard’s nostrils are wide and fluttering in anger, a fire in his eyes like he’s been personally insulted by the Osborn kid’s hand over the small of Tony’s back while the pair of them were by the d'oeuvres, exchanging flirty looks.  _

_ His dad’s rage pleases Tony immensely. _

_ “Just having a little fun, dad. You made me come to this boring thing, after all. I don’t see what the big deal is-” _

_ “He’s the CEO of a  _ direct  _ rival company, Tony!” Howard howled inches away from his face. “Do you think that’s a proper image to give in front of all the investors?” _

_ “Oh, come  _ on _ , dad! That’s not why you’re pissed off and we both know it!” _

_ Howard narrowed his eyes in a clear warning sign for Tony not to push it any further. _

_ “Believe me, boy,” he hisses, disgust clear in his voice, “I couldn’t care  _ less _ that you’ve chosen that perverted, degenerate lifestyle-” _

_ Maria squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers, standing near the closed door of the studio, eyes closed in an expression of exasperation. _

_ “Will you  _ stop _ it already? Both of you!” _

_ “Hold on, mom, I think  _ daddy _ is finally opening up about his raging homophobia,” Tony said sarcastically with a laugh. _

_ “I will not let you destroy everything I worked for my entire life because you’re a depraved slut-” _

_ “Howard, ENOUGH!” Maria is suddenly wide eyed and her tone is outraged. _

_ Tony clenched his jaw and smiled, ready to close their little game of tennis down with a brutal swing. _

_ “That doesn’t change the fact that my designs are far superior to yours and I’m only seventeen. How does it feel, being second to a cocklsut,  _ Howard? _ ” _

_ “ANTHONY FOR GOD’S S-!” his mom tries to shush him, scandalized, but the rest of her words get lost in a gasp of horror. _

_ Tony feels his eyes water from the sting of the blow as he brings the back of his hand to his face. _

_ “You will  _ never  _ talk to me like that again, do you understand me?” Howard’s words come out between gritten teeth as a dangerous hiss. _

_ Tony doesn’t even look at him as he turns around and storms out of the studio. _

_ “Darling…” her mom whispers as he leaves. _

“Sir?” 

Tony suddenly realizes he’s clenching his fists as well as his teeth and tries to calm down. That  _ bastard _ .

“What is it, J?” his voice sounds hoarse and filled with anguish from the memory.

“Sir, I am detecting your blood sugar levels are dangerously low. May I suggest a break-”

“I’m fine,” he snaps back.

Tony can practically  _ hear _ the AI’s sigh, even though it doesn’t actually happen because he is, after all, an AI.

“Very well, Sir.”

***

Steve makes it back to the compound like a zombie, not really registering his surroundings at all. It’s not like he needs to, he has an eidetic memory. 

He drags himself to his room, his heart racing every time he turns a corner, both hoping and dreading he’s gonna bump into Tony on his way up. He’s almost disappointed when he reaches his bedroom and drops heavily on the mattress. Running into him would have been awkward, but it would have given him an excuse to talk- or maybe to be ignored by him, which at least was some sort of interaction. His mind is telling him to take a shower - even though he’s barely sweating at all - but he doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel like doing anything at all. He closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh before he stands up and starts undressing, without giving it a second thought. Steve Rogers never does what he  _ feels like _ , he does what he  _ has to _ . 

He steps into the shower and absentmindedly presses the button that gets his default setting going. All those extra functions Tony added… He was grateful for his effort and generosity, but he could not bring himself to enjoy such complicated things. There was a time when simply having a _ hot  _ shower was a luxury. He was a man with simple needs and all of these ‘eccentricities’ did just not go with his personality at all.

He lets the water run down his skin. It feels soothing on his body, but the ache in his chest doesn’t seem to go away. How is he going to fix this without coming clean? For the first time in a very, very long time, Steve can’t come up with a strategy to fix something and that feeling is deeply unsettling. 

Maybe he should stop overthinking so much. Maybe he could just go downstairs - Tony was surely tinkering in his workshop, he always does that when he wants to avoid him - and simply ask for… forgiveness? What would he be apologizing for exactly?

Steve can’t put into words how he feels, so maybe he should try a different approach.

***

It’s half past five when JARVIS alerts him that Steve has asked him to inform him of his intentions of coming down to the workshop floor. He quickly instructs him to block his ID card’s access on the elevator panel.

“I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, Sir.”

That homophobic  _ jerk _ . Does he think he owns the place? Coming to bother Tony at any time he sees fit? Screw his self-righteous ass.

A few minutes go by. He can imagine Captain Gayhater trying to swipe his card and press the button with no result. He smiles devilishly in satisfaction when he pictures Steve’s surprised and angry face at the lack of response from the elevator panel. Serves him right for lecturing him on how to live his personal life.  _ Go sketch some squirrel or something, you paleolithic bitch. _

***

He walks into the elevator, careful to steady the hand that’s holding the tray, and swipes his card onto the panel. All buttons to every floor activate, turning blue around the edges as usual, except one.

“JARVIS?” Steve looks up at the ceiling, even though he knows the AI isn’t physically there. “I can’t access the workshop floor...”

“I’m sorry, Captain. Sir does not wish to be disturbed.”

Steve stands there with the tray of coffee, pot roast and freshly cut fruit, blinking in confusion. Tony  _ locked him out _ . 

He purses his lips trying to hold in a sad sigh that still manages to escape him in the form of a pained whimper, making him sound like a wounded dog. God, he’s so pathetic.

“Ok...” he looks at the food. “Will you at least let him know I left him some dinner in the kitchen?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

He walks out of the elevator with a feeling of defeat spreading quickly through his body. He tries not to think about the three hours he’s just spent recreating the same dish they had on the terrace before it all went to hell as he lays the tray onto the kitchen island and walks out of the room.


	5. White Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is in temper tantrum mode and Steve finally opens up to Sam.

_ I will go down with this ship _

_ And I won't put my hands up and surrender _

_ There will be no white flag above my door _

_ I'm in love and always will be _

  


Tony’s working intently on an upgrade of Widow’s Bites - S.H.I.E.L.D tech, _ ugh _ -, Black Sabbath playing in the background. His phone is sitting next to him on the table and on the screen there’s the face of a very annoyed James Rhodes. 

“It’s been a week, Tony,” he hears the man’s exasperated voice through the device. “I swear to God either you let me down and talk to me or I’m getting in the Iron Patriot-”

“War Machine,” Tony corrects him instantly.

“_Whatever. _ ” Rhodey replies, clearly starting to lose his patience. “I _ will _ knock the walls of the shop down, Anthony. Your choice.”

And he hangs up. _ He hung up on _ ** _me_ ** _ ! _Tony thinks, eyes wide as he looks at the phone in disbelief. The audacity!

He wonders for a second, narrowing his eyes at the blank screen. He has to be bluffing, surely. 

He resumes his work on Natasha’s weapon, stealing wary looks at the phone every couple of seconds, the frown on his face growing deep with concern.

Rhodey _ could _ be bluffing, but then again, this is the man who blasted half of his Malibu mansion when he was being an ass on his birthday party due to the imminent threat of death by palladium poisoning... 

“JARVIS, be a dear and restore Colonel Rhodes’ ID card’s access to this floor, will ya’? And let him know.”

“A wise decision, Sir.”

Where does his AI get all that sass from? Tony wonders with a snort and a slightly amused smirk.

Just a few minutes go by before he hears the elevator doors sliding open. He doesn’t bother to look up though, it can only be…

“I know you miss me terribly but you have to learn to control your urges, honeybear.”

Rhodey steps into the workshop wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Funny you should use that expression since it actually looks _ and _ smells like the only bear around here is you,” he says, minding his step as he makes his way towards the genius. “Jesus…”

“Nope. Still Tony. Although I understand the confusion since I too perform mirac-”

He feels a hand grabbing his shoulder and turning his chair around.

“Tony.” There’s that look he hates. That big brother look, that ‘I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on and let me help you’ look. “Why are you acting like this? What’s happening?” His gaze quickly flashes towards his chest. “Are you-" 

“I’m fine,” Tony quickly assures him, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

Rhodey frowned. “Then what is it?” he seemed both annoyed and worried in equal measure.

Tony looks at Nat’s Widow Bite and sighs. He’s avoided this long enough. Also, it’s _ Rhodey_. 

“I- I didn’t feel like being around Cap for a few days, okay?” He throws his hands in the air, defeated. “It’s no big deal, I’ll get over it. I just- I need some time to myself.”

Rhodes looks at him intently, calculating his next move. Tony can see how he’s carefully constructing his next question - because of course there’s gonna be questions. He leans against the desk next to Tony, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“Wanna tell me what happened?" 

“Not really,” Tony answers quickly. “Are you gonna let it go?”

“Hmm-” Rhodes looks up at the ceiling, pretending to ponder that over. “Not really.”

“Then why do you ask if you’re gonna keep breaking my balls anyway?” 

“‘Cause I’m polite like that?” He smiles and lifts a cocky eyebrow.

Tony gives him a small, tired smile. “What you are is a pain in the ass, but you already know that, right?” 

Rhodey doesn’t even dignify that question with an answer, he only nods his head as a sign for him to start talking.

“Fine” Tony drops the tool he’d been clutching onto the work table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Long story short, remember the debriefing with Fury, the one where I was on video call from Malibu?”

“Yeah…?” Rhodey frowns. 

“Well,” Tony lets out a sarcastic laugh, “apparently the good old Captain has _ opinions _ on my- how shall we put it? Lifestyle choices? He hates homosexuals, basically.”

“_What? _ ” Rhodey is looking at him in disbelief, a grim in his face. “What did he say? _ Exactly _?”

“How did he call it?” Tony narrows his eyes, trying to recall the conversation. “Oh yeah, a _ ‘spectacle’ _ of me _ ‘parading that man’ _. I believe those were the exact words he used’.”

“Rogers said that? _ Steve? _”

“No, Kenny. Of course it was _ Steve_!” Tony throws his hands in the air as he practically spits out the name, like it’s venom drawn from a wound. He shakes his head in disapprovement. “I’m telling you, that guy’s head is still in the fucking 1940’s.” 

Rhodey is puzzled, gaze lost somewhere in the distance. He keeps frowning in disbelief and this makes Tony’s blood boil. Why isn’t he outraged on his behalf? Why does he even doubt for a second that Steve would pull that kind of crap? The guy walked in that star spangled outfit like he had a huge metal pole up his ass. 

“I- have you confronted him about it?” Rhodey asks, exuding calm and logic. That’s infuriating to Tony.

“Well, so much for friendship!” Tony stands up, outraged. “Why should _ I _ go talk to _ him _? He was the one who was disrespectful!”

Rhodey puts his hands up in the air as if to calm him down. “Ok, ok! So has he?”

“Has he what?” Tony practically barks, turning around and pacing the workshop. 

“Tried to talk to you?”

Tony is about to answer that no, he hasn't. But that’s a big fat lie.

“Well, he tried to come down to the lab that same day- with the ridiculous excuse to bring me food or something.” Tony was starting to feel the anxiety building up in his chest, as he brought a hand up to tap where the arc reactor used to be, absentmindedly. “I mean, can you believe that clown?”

“Tony, it sounds to me like he was _ trying _...”

“I knew it!” he points an accusatory finger at Rhodey, eyes wide and lips pursed in annoyance. “I _ knew _ you were gonna take his side! You _ always _do this!”

Rhodey rolls his eyes as he shifts from foot to foot. “That is completely false and you know it. I’m not taking anybody’s side, I’m just saying, the guy tried to reach out! In his own way, but he tried. Just- talk to him.”

“And tell him what?”

“The truth, Tony. That what he said hurt your feelings. Hear him out, maybe he wants to apologize...” Rhodey explains as he sighs, the way you would when you’re trying to make your point to a five year old.

“Yeah, sure. When hell freezes over, Rhodes.” Tony says angrily. “I will _ not _show- I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me all worked up about this. Nuh-uh.”

Rhodey stands up from the desk he’d been leaning on and shakes his head in defeat. “Well, I don’t care _ what _ you do or _ how _ you do it, but you can’t keep hiding here. You’ve missed training, you’ve missed debriefings and you’re barely eating anything at all.” He walks towards the elevator and he only turns around after he’s pushed the button. “He’s not Howard, Tony. _ Talk to him _.”

Tony flinches like he’s just been stabbed in the gut. When Rhodey leaves, he’s left standing in the middle of the workshop, angrily tapping his foot against the floor. He remembers sneaking up to the kitchen, stomach roaring in hunger, and seeing the pot roast sitting there in the tray. Something warm had briefly spread through his chest but was quickly drowned by the anger he still felt. 

He has to admit to himself Rhodey isn’t completely _ wrong _ . Old Captain Dumbass _ is _ trying. He’s glad he hasn’t mentioned the texts to his friend, though. He could imagine what his reaction would have been if he had confessed Steve had been sending him little texts all week. 

> I asked JARVIS to let you know… there’s food on the kitchen island if you’re hungry. - Steve 
> 
> Hi, we missed you at practice today. Hope you’re ok. - Steve
> 
> I wasn’t sure if you had eaten anything so I made you a sandwich. You know the one with avocado you like? It’s in the kitchen. - Steve
> 
> Tony, I made a fresh pot of coffee. Not sure if you have any left down there. Left you Fury’s files on those mercenaries we’ve been tracking. I hope everything’s ok. - Steve

Tony scrolls through his phone and snorts. Why did he have to sign all the texts? And what was it with the food obsession? That idiot. He has a feeling Rhodey would have had something to say about the texts, though… He can practically hear him: “Tony, the guy is _ really _ trying!”. Well, he shouldn’t have been an asshole in the first place! That way he wouldn’t have anything to be sorry for, now, would he?

He looks at the messages again and that same warm feeling spreads through his chest, only more intense this time. 

Fuck a duck, he _ misses _ that big blond oaf. 

***

Steve is sitting on his bed, legs bent upwards to serve as surface for his sketchbook. He’s very still, trying not to move a lot so he doesn’t scare the couple of hummingbirds hanging out on the branch directly next to his window. He looks down at the paper: not his best work. There’s a knock on the door that startles him and he shifts in the bed abruptly. He watches with sadness as the couple of birds fly away. 

“Come in,” he says with a sigh.

Sam’s head pops up from the space between the door and the frame. 

“Hey, man. What’s up? I missed your cheeky comments on my morning run today.”

Sam walks into the room and half sits on the table, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry, didn’t really- I didn’t feel like running today,” Steve answers, trying to sound casual, although he already knows that’s not going to work with Sam.

“_You _ didn’t feel like _ running, _” he repeats sarcastically, brows flying up his forehead. “Sure, Cap. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Steve sighs and eyes the door for a second. Sam catches this little detail and quickly walks over there and closes it, understanding that Steve wants the conversation to be private. 

“So it’s that serious, huh?”

Steve sighs.

“You’ve seen it yourself. He hasn’t come up in days…”

Sam makes a face and waves a hand dismissively in the air.

“You know how he gets when he’s on one of his tinkering sprees. Don’t read too much into it.”

Steve shakes his head.

“He’s not just working, Sam. He’s actively avoiding me.” The blond closes his sketchbook and throws it along with the pencil on the bed, frustrated. He sits by the edge of the mattress, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his hair. “How can I fix this if he doesn’t even get out of that goddamn lab?!” 

Sam walks over the bed and sits next to him to rest an empathic hand on his shoulder. 

“What about the texts?”

“He’s reading them but he’s not replying.” Steve’s voice is muffled by his hands over his face.

“He has to come up eventually,” Sam reassures him, squeezing his shoulder and rocking him. “When he does, just be upfront and tell him.” 

“It’s not that simple, Sam,” he groans, still hiding his face.

“Oh, but it is. It is real simple. Just tell him.”

Steve feels his heart skip a beat as he raises his head from his hands and freezes on the spot, locking a wary gaze with Sam. He must be talking about the whole homophobia thing, surely. 

“He won’t believe me. You should have seen his face--”

“No, Steve. I mean _ tell him _.”

He looks at Sam, blinking in confusion that quickly makes way for a blood-freezing terror expression as his friend’s eyebrows go up and tilts his head forward. It’s a ‘you _ know _what I mean’ look. 

Steve panics. It’s one thing to talk to Nat about this - not that he actually ever told her, she’s just that unnervingly good at reading people - but Sam… He feels like it’s so unfair to see him in a different light when he’s proven himself far more than worthy of his trust, but… he’s never talked about this with another man other than his priest back in the ‘40s. He remembers how that one went. Besides, Sam is straight, doesn’t he… wouldn’t he care that he was… 

He eyes their thighs, brushing together. He doesn’t want to lose his friend, he doesn’t want to face the rejection. He settles for playing dumb. 

“I don’t understand, what do you mean..?” 

“Steve, _ please _.” Sam looks at him intently. “Do not insult my intelligence like that.”

He’s frozen. He can’t think, can’t move. He stares blankly at him, desperately trying to come up with an excuse, an explanation that doesn’t require admitting he’s right. He knows Sam, he knows he won’t be nasty about it, but what if their relationship changes after this? He can’t… He doesn’t even want to think about it. Suddenly all those insults, those beatings, the looks of disgust and reprobation, like there’s something wrong with him, it all comes back and even though he knows it won’t happen like this, he can’t help it. He’s terrified. Luckily Sam realizes Steve is panicking and he smiles softly at him. 

“Man, you’re so obvious around him!” He pats his friend on the back. “Honestly, I think the only one who still doesn’t notice is him.” 

Steve can feel every muscle in his body tensing up, like he’s waiting for a metaphorical blow that’s taking too long to land. When he finally speaks, his voice comes in a low whisper of disbelief. 

“How- You don’t _ care _?” 

“About what?”

“Well, you know-” the blond lowers his gaze feeling his cheeks burning. He wishes he didn’t have to say it out loud. “That I’m… that I like...”

Sam’s laughs startles him. For a split second, Steve thinks _ this is it _. He’s laughing at him, he’s going to make fun of him, ridicule him. But when he’s able to actually listen to it, he realizes his friend’s laugh is gentle, soft and honest. 

“Dude, this ain’t like in your day anymore. We don’t alienate people for their sexual preferences.” 

“But-” Steve sighs, something heavy floating away from his shoulders and something else settling in. “Don’t you think less of me? I- I’m supposed to lead this team...”

Sam frowns and his smile fades away slowly. “And you do a great job at that, Steve. Nobody would ever respect you any less because you like men.”

Steve feels a shudder run through his body. The fact that Sam is openly speaking about it, like it’s no big deal at all, it’s both liberating and… unsettling. He’s been hiding for so long, trying to _ pray the gay away _ for so long… And suddenly it’s nothing to worry about. He doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t have to fake it to be respected and taken seriously. A part of him feels amazing about it, but the other doesn’t really know what’s next, because he’s never been in this situation before. He feels his eyes tearing up a bit with the weight of it all and he’s mortified. His mind automatically screams _ don’t be a sissy _, because that’s what his father used to scream too. Men don’t cry, specially not in front of other men. Looking back on it, maybe Tony was right. Maybe there was something buried deep within him that was wired to hate this after all… 

“I- don’t know what to say, Sam.” 

His friend sighs next to him and nods. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Cap, but trust me. Things are very different now… If I’m being honest, I was kind of hurt that you didn’t want to talk to me about it, you know?” he says, taking his hand off Steve’s back and resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re friends… or at least I thought we were-”

“We are!” Steve quickly snaps out of his own sad internal monologue, eyes wide. “We are, Sam. You’re- you’ve been the closest thing to a best friend I’ve had since-” He doesn’t say his name. He can’t deal with that right now. “I just thought… maybe you’d feel uncomfortable around me if- I didn’t want to lose you.”

Sam looks at him and Steve can see the sadness in his gaze.

“You would never lose me over something like this, Steve. We’re friends, this would never change that.” He lays a hand over Steve’s knee and pats him, with a genuine kind smile on his face that says _ please, trust me _. 

Steve lets out a deep breath, feeling something soothing wash over him. He feels… _ lighter _. He smiles back and laughs sadly.

“I wish talking to Tony was this easy...”

“It could be,” Sam says, then falls silent for a second, but Steve shoots him a ‘don’t bullshit me’ look and he laughs loudly. “Okay, it probably won’t be, but at least you could be honest with him, get it out of the way...”

“And tell him I have-” Steve feels the words die in his throat. God, he can’t even say it out loud to Sam, let alone confessing to Tony. “He- It would break the team up.”

“You know Tony swings both ways, Cap. He’s hardly one to give you a hard time about this-”

“I mean, if he knew how I _ felt _, he might not want to be around me anymore,” Steve says, gloomy. “I can’t risk that...”

Sam hums in consideration.

“Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t.” Then he leans forward to lock gazes with Steve. “There’s only one way to find out, though.”

***

When Tony finally emerges from the workshop, he’s in desperate need of a shave. And caffeine. It’s around eight in the morning so he knows Steve is probably on his morning marathon - why does he run so much? He doesn’t even need it! But that’s beside the point: Tony needs supplies and this is a safe window of opportunity to get them and not run into the super soldier. He carefully tip toes his way into the silent kitchen, mentally crossing his fingers, and his entire body relaxes when the only thing he can spot is the back of a red haired head.

“Good morning, Shellhead. Long time, no see.”

“You didn’t even turn around. How-”

Natasha cuts him off with a sigh. “Do I really need to answer that question?”

Master assassin, deadly spy. Yeah. Dumb question, Stark.

“So...” he casually walks over to the coffee machine and opens the cabinet above, looking frantically around the room as he goes. “You enjoying some alone time? Quiet breakfast?”

“He’s not here.”

Darn it. Is he that obvious?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says as he cradles his left arm and stacks three of boxes of capsules against his chest.

“Sure you don’t.” 

Tony grunts in annoyance. He can’t have this conversation without having had his coffee yet. 

“Is this public knowledge now? Does everyone know about my fight with Cap?” he asks as he gives up and drops the boxes over the counter, going for the coffee pot instead. “Because you’re all being incredibly biased and may I remind you, _ I’m _ the one who’s got every right to be angry.” 

He eyes the mugs on the wall. Nope, none of them will do, he needs _ his _ mug. 

“Are you telling him to come talk to me, too? Because offering food and coffee doesn’t count as an apology for being a homophobic asshole last time I checked.” He grabs every mug, trying to decide which one to use, but _ ugh _ none of them are _ right _ and he’s getting angrier by the minute. Curse his stupid OCD. “I can’t believe you’re all taking his side!”

Nat has turned his back against the counter, leaning on it as she eyes him silently and sips her coffee. Tony has never been more jealous of the woman. God, he _ needs _ that coffee. 

With an annoyed growl, he gives up his search for a replacement mug, messily grabs the boxes of capsules and walks over to the elevator. He stops once he’s in front of the doors and lets out a sigh before pressing the button. 

“You had no idea what I was talking about, did you?”

He can _ hear _ Nat’s smug smile against her coffee mug as he ashamedly disappears into the elevator. Damn her and her silent but highly effective interrogation techniques.

***

Tony’s blasting AC/DC in the workshop as he works on new designs for Hawkeye’s arrows so it takes him a few seconds to register the noise behind him. 

“Tony?”

_ Shoot to thrill, play to kill _

_ Too many women with too many pills _

“Tony!”

_ Shoot to thrill, play to kill _

_ I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will _

_ Yeah _

“STARK!”

He jumps in the air like a cat when he feels a big hand tap on his shoulder. When he turns around, he can’t believe his eyes.

“JARVIS, mute.”

Steve Rogers is standing in the middle of his workshop. Fucking _ Steve Rogers _ is standing in the middle of his _ goddamn workshop. _

“Security breach!” he shouts at the AI.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but you told me to restore Colonel Rhodes’ ID card’s access to this floor.” 

“Yeah, and this isn’t Colonel Rhodes, _ genius _!” Tony replies, outraged as Steve just stands there looking all kinds of uncomfortable.

“It appears Captain Rogers was granted access using Colonel Rhodes’ ID card, Sir.”

Tony curses under his breath. “Damn you, Rhodey.” 

Steve, who’s backed up slightly and is looking at him with that annoying puppy eye look, holds up his hands.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I- I asked Rhodey to let me down, I needed to talk to you and-”

“So you _forced_ your way into my _private space_ when I didn’t _want_ _you_ to be here.” 

Steve winces. This is going to be a lot harder than he’d thought. 

“Tony, _ please _. It’s been over a week. We need to talk.”

Tony laughs and turns around in his chair. 

“Typical Rogers. He _ decides _ and everyone must _ follow. _I’m not a dog you can summon, darling, so how about you get the fuck out?” 

Steve stares at the man’s back and shakes his head, tempted to just walk out, but ultimately decides against it. He can’t take anymore of this situation, so he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. 

“I have no problem with you being gay, Tony.” 

The silence that follows Steve’s words is thick one, uncomfortable and tense. Tony is still not facing him, but his movements have stilled. He seems to recover fairly quickly, though, as he returns to his tinkering with the blue screens in front of him.

“I’m _ bisexual _, you pretentious douche,” he spits out, his voice full of anger. “And yeah, I guess I should have known you were cool with it since you were so nice about it the other day-”

“It wasn’t about that-” Steve cuts him off but he doesn’t get a chance to explain himself any further.

Both his and Tony’s StarkPhone ring at the same time. They know what that sound means.

> _ Avengers, assemble. _


	6. Helium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers go on a mission but it's hard for one of them to keep a clear head.

_ And if you let go, I'll float towards the sun _

_ I'm stronger 'cause you fill me up _

_ But when the fear comes and I drift towards the ground _

_ I am lucky that you're around _

The whole team gathers in the conference room, Tony making sure he’s sitting as far away from Steve as he can. Fury’s hologram comes up along with the screens showing the data while Maria hands over StarkPads. They’ve been tipped about an imminent operation; the group of mercenaries they’ve been tracking for a few months are going to attempt breaking into an old HYDRA facility. 

“There’s nothing there” Tony says, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “JARVIS scanned the whole thing when we took it down.”

“Well, we might have missed something” Steve suggests. “If these guys-”

“_Excuse_ _me_,” Tony leans forward on the table and narrows his eyes, “my tech doesn’t _miss _anything.”

Steve locks eyes with him. The anger and the resentment is still there and Steve feels the urgent need to shake the man. This is not the time nor the place to be having petty arguments, they need to focus. He ignores him.

“Whatever they’re looking for, we can’t let them find it first.” Nat comes in to save the day, as usual.

“Exactly,” Fury agrees, his eyes hard on Tony as a form of warning. “Captain, coordinate the team and ambush them. If we can take them in, maybe we can find out who they’re working for.”

Steve nods and Fury’s hologram vanishes. Maria explains further details about the facility’s location and its structure, as well as the surroundings. Steve eyes the data, already coming up with a strategy and instructions for each team member, taking into consideration their abilities. Hawkeye will be up high and provide a large visual, Widow and him can sneak in after the mercenaries and slim the group down in stealth. They need to be careful and let them approach whatever it is they’ve been ordered to retrieve so they can get their hands on it first. He can’t have Rhodey, Tony or Sam flying around and blowing their cover, so he figures they should wait outside for his word. When the time is right, Tony and Sam can barge in and join him and Nat. Someone should stay with Clint in case things go wrong and Rhodey’s suit is heavily armed, he can also cover them if they get unexpected company. He warns them, though: minimum casualties. They still need these guys alive and taken into custody.

Everybody agrees with him in silent nods. Well, _ almost _ everyone.

“So your plan is benching the only three people who wear flying suits. That’s very smart, _ Captain _.”

Steve sighs.

“I’m not _ benching _ anyone. Your thrusters don’t exactly come with a silencer, Tony,” he calmly explains. “If they smell something’s up, they might not go through with it at all or worse, they’ll retreat and we’ll lose them. _ Again _.” He looks seriously at the rest of the team. “We can’t let that happen under any circumstances. Are we clear on that?”

Tony breaths in annoyedly and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back on the chair. “Whatever,” he murmurs, quite childishly.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Steve looks around and no one says anything else. “Very well, then. Get your stuff, we leave in an hour.”

Everybody leaves the room but Steve frowns following Tony’s movements and after a moment of indecision, he goes after him.

“Tony, wait.”

The brunette doesn’t even turn around.

“Sorry, Cap. Gotta go put on my noisy-as-fuck suit!”

Steve groans and picks up the pace to get to him and when he does, he takes him by the arm and turns him around. Tony tries to get away, an outraged look on his face, so Steve grabs his shoulders and traps him against the wall, blocking him with his own body. 

“Get your serum-enhanced _ paws _ off of me,” Tony whispers, chin up and ready to pick a fight.

The blond doesn’t even flinch, his eyes locked with Tony’s displaying the same defiance. 

“This isn’t a game, Stark.” He tightens his grip ever so slightly to make his point. “I will _ not _ risk the lives of anyone in this team just because we can’t leave what’s happening between us outside the field. So just tell me now, because if you can’t, be damn sure I _ will _ bench you. For real.”

Tony’s anger dies down a little, although there’s still a controlled, sad rage behind his eyes. He pushes Steve off with uncanny strength.

“I’ve done _ nothing _ but look after all of you-” his voice breaks. Steve’s color drains from his face as Tony tears his gaze from him and angrily walks away.

Steve sighs heavily._ That’s not what I mean _, he thinks, but as usual the words die unsaid in his throat. 

***

“Hawkeye, do you have a visual?”

“They’re coming in through the main entrance.”

“Stark, can you get us that code?”

“On it. JARVIS, zoom in on that panel.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The mercenaries go in leaving two man standing guard outside.

“Nat?”

“Child’s play, Cap.”

She gets out of her hiding spot and easily climbs the facility’s east wall, setting into position right above one of the guards. Steve circles the west wall and whistles. One of the guards walks over to inspect the noise and Steve wastes no time grabbing the man in a choke-hold, cutting the air off and leaving him unconscious, while Nat drops over the other guy and does the same with her legs. They drag the bodies out of sight, then Steve uses the code JARVIS has given him to open the door.

“We’re in. Go silent on the comms, wait for our word.”

They sneak around until they catch up with the mercenaries, silently following them from a distance. 

Meanwhile, Rhodey and Hawkeye keep their position on top of the building; Tony and Sam are hiding behind a bunch of containers facing the facility south. If someone comes from behind, Clint will take them out silently. 

“So...” Sam whispers, “did you and Steve get a chance to talk?”

Tony sighs. _ Not this, not now. _

“Wilson, this is hardly the best timing for a heart-to-heart conversation.”

“I know, I know...” Sam nods and goes silent for a moment. “It’s just- he’s really having a hard time, you know?”

He wants to snap at him, he really does, but he’s way too focused on this goddamn stupid mission and Steve’s hurtful words are still echoing through his mind. 

“Yeah?” he does mean it every bit as sarcastically as it comes out.

Suddenly, they hear shots coming from inside. They both look at each other and Tony breaks the silence on the comms.

“Rogers? Rogers, what’s going on?” Nothing can be heard through the earpiece. “Natasha?!”

_ Damn it, Steve _.

Tony’s already on his feet, his faceplate going down. Sam grabs his arm.

“Cap said-”

“I know what Cap said. We’re going in.”

“We don’t know what’s happ-”

“Do you want to carry our friends’ bodies to the Quinjet, Wilson?” he practically shouts at him. “We’re going _ in _.”

Sam sighs and they signal Rhodey and Hawkeye to cover them as they both take off and fly right through the windows over the entrance. They barge in on the mercenaries and Tony immediately understands he’s made a mistake. They’re fighting amongst each other but as soon as they lay eyes on them, they open fire against him and Sam.

“STARK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he hears Steve howl through the comm - he must have had it switched off before. _ Damn it. _

Tony is way too worried about taking down mercenaries to answer. He keeps eyeing Sam, who obviously doesn’t have repulsors in his hands to fight off the bad guys so he’s just sheltering himself with his wings.

_ “I will not risk the lives of anyone on this team.” _

Tony launches towards Sam and grabs him, pushing him away from firing range, behind a wall, then throws himself head first against the shooters. He barely registers Widow dropping from her hiding spot up on the ceiling and a red, white and blue blur passing just a few inches from his faceplate. Steve’s shield smacks the walls and returns to his hand as he runs forward next to him, fending the mercenaries off as he approaches him. 

He can hear one of the guys shouting and someone hurrying them: _ come on, come on, come on _! 

“TONY!”

There’s a loud sound and he feels his body go off the ground and hit the wall. Everything goes dark.

***

“JARVIS, read vitals.”

“Heartbeat detected.”

“Tony? Tones, can you hear me?”

That’s Rhodey. 

He opens his eyes and he still has his faceplate on but the suit is rebooting. He lifts it off and when he looks around, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Nat and Sam are hunched over something in a blue suit… and there’s whole lot of blood on the floor. He immediately tries to get up but his body protests.

“Easy, easy!” Rhodey holds a hand to his armored chest. 

“We have to get him to the Quinjet, _ now! _” he hears Natasha scream at Clint. 

Everything goes dark again.

***

When he wakes up, he’s in a bed at the compound. There’s an IV line attached to his left arm and every single muscle in his body aches. He tries to sit up and he groans as a blinding pain spreads through his chest side. He instinctively brings a hand up to were the arc reactor used to be. 

“Cracked ribs, don’t move.” He hears Rhodey’s voice by his side.

Tony blinks a few times trying to focus. His friend is sitting on a chair by his side in sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

“How long have I been out?”

“A couple of days,” Rhodey says, dryly. He sounds both relieved and annoyed. 

His expression and tone of voice brings back memories from the battle at the HYDRA facility and Tony’s first reaction is to try to get up again. Rhodey quickly gets to his side, though, and presses a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

“Where is he?” Tony asks, eyes wide and throat dry.

Rhodey sighs. “He’s still under. He’s healing fast, but Dr. Cho thought it best to keep him sedated… to help with the pain.”

Tony winces at this. He remembers the pool of blood surrounding Steve’s body.

“What happened? I- Everything’s foggy.”

Rhodey goes back to his chair and sits leaning forward, resting his arms on his thighs and rubbing his hands together nervously.

“Mercenaries were discussing who was taking the intel to the boss and the argument got heated, a few shots were fired,” he pauses, apparently trying to decide the best way to go on. “Steve and Nat were hidden and had turned off the comms to avoid being detected, so when you tried to contact them, they didn’t hear you.” Tony frowns and closes his eyes. He didn’t… He didn’t think of that. He could have asked JARVIS to give him a scan of the room to check for Steve’s and Nat’s body heat signatures. He could have approached carefully and tried to get a visual on them. He could have done so many things - less risky things - but as soon as he heard the gunshots all he could think about was _ Steve _. “When you and Sam barged in, they set off a bomb to give them enough time to make an escape. You were too close. Steve shielded you from the blast...”

Tony could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears. _ Steve shielded you _ . Of course he did, that dumbass. He should have taken cover, he should have run, but _ no _ . He _ had _ to be the hero, as usual. 

_ “I will not risk the lives of anyone on this team.” _

Yeah, except his own.

No, that wasn’t true. _ Tony _ had risked everyone’s lives by barging in. 

“Ho-” his voice breaks down and he clears his throat, hoping Rhodey will think it’s from his throat being dry. “How is he?”

“He’s… it was pretty bad. His shield didn’t cover him entirely so a bunch of shrapnel...” _ Oh, God. _Tony’s mind immediately fills with flashes from Afghanistan and a shiver runs through him. Rhodey can easily read Tony’s reaction, so he doesn’t go into more detail about that. “Also, he put himself between the armor and the blast so he took some pretty nasty blows.”

“I wanna see him.”

“Tony-”

“I _ need _ to see him.”

He bites his tongue at the pain in his chest as he sits up, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, ready to grab the IV pole and make his way to Steve’s room, when Rhodey stands in front of him, blocking his path.

“If you _ care _ about him at all, you’ll let him rest. The serum is healing all the wounds and bruises, but he _ needs _ to rest. You can talk to him when he’s awake.”

Tony is desperate. He needs to talk to him. He needs to apologize, to tell him- He doesn’t even know what he’s gonna tell him. He just knows he needs to be by his side and that’s when it hits him: this is the same feeling he got on the field that didn’t let him think straight. He takes a deep breath and leans back down on the bed, with a little help from Rhodey, who nods approvingly.

“And get some rest. You need it too.”

*** 

It’s been a few days already and after battling Helen ad nauseam, he’s been finally allowed to get on a wheelchair and let into Steve’s room. 

He looks terrible. Dr. Cho has taken him off the sedatives, so now it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up on his own and the serum is healing his wounds faster than any human body could possibly recover, but still… 

Tony’s just sitting there in his sad little wheelchair, working on some unfinished projects on his StarkPad, eyeing the blond every couple of seconds. He’s been trying to concentrate, but everytime he looks up and sees Steve something tightens around his heart. 

_ “How would you feel about ‘movie night’ on Fridays?” _

_ Steve frowns in confusion, pouring himself some coffee, his clothes a little sticky with sweat from this morning run. He looks at Tony over his shoulder, an amused smile on his face. _

_ “Movie night?” _

_ Tony stands up from the kitchen island, grabbing his Stark Industries mug and walking over to stand next to the super soldier. _

_ “Yeah, I mean… You’ve missed the _ real _ Golden Age of Hollywood if you ask me.” He sips his coffee as he leans against the counter. “You haven’t even seen Star Wars! _ Star Wars _ , Steve! What if you die tomorrow? I would never forgive myself.” _

_ Steve laughs softly, clearly amused by Tony’s dramatism. “Would you mourn me?” _

_ Tony smirks and lifts a cocky eyebrow. “Oh, absolutely. Who would I make fun of if you were gone?” _

It had started innocently enough, he recalls, just some good old team bonding. But then Steve would ask Tony to this bakery in Brooklyn that had miraculously survived all these years, passing from generation to generation of owners. Then Tony would invite Steve to a baseball game - although he hated it, but it made Steve smile in a childish way that warmed his heart - and politely pretended to pay attention as the blond would talk about the Brooklyn Dodgers and how outraged he was when he found out they’d moved the team. Suddenly, they had inside jokes and shared complicit smiles across the table while the team had brunch on Sunday morning. 

_ If someone were to walk in, their brains would collapse. _

_ Tony tinkered away as ‘Devil May Care’ by Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey played softly in the background. Of course, this bizarre scenario had a perfectly good explanation. _

_ That ‘explanation’ was blond, had ancient taste in music and had become a regular squatter in Tony’s beloved workshop. At first, when Steve had asked him to come down here, Tony’d said no. This was his most personal space and he didn’t want to share it. The big guy had acres of land to entertain himself. But then Tony had observed him: wandering like a lost puppy around the compound with his sketchbook under his arm, like he was perpetually looking for a place to settle and none of them felt right, so Tony’s heart felt heavy and uncomfortable and he _ ** _hated_ ** _ it. So he changed his mind. _

_After a while, Steve had - very sheepishly and politely - ask if he would ever consider changing the music a little. Tony had almost thrown DUM-E at the Capsicle’s head at the mere suggestion. His rock music was _**_sacred_**. _Steve had never brought it up again, obviously, but one day Tony had frowned and winced at the pained expression on Steve’s face while Suicidal Tendencies’ _**Institutionalized** _played as loud as it could without causing permanent ear damage. He looked like he was being forced to suck on a lemon. _

_ “Fine!” he had shouted, profoundly annoyed that he actually cared at all. “If you could choose the music, what would you play?” _

_ Steve’s head snapped up from where he’d been drawing, eyes widened in true amazement, a glow of excitement in his face. _

The memory makes Tony ask JARVIS to play, at a very low volume, Steve’s playlist from the workshop. He figures even if he’s still asleep, maybe he can hear it. He would feel better with his music. 

‘It’s Always You’ starts playing very softly. Steve really likes this one, Tony knows - and he _ hates _ that he knows. 

God, he needs to talk to him. He’s not sure what he wants to say, but there’s something heavy weighing on his chest. He definitely wants to yell at him for putting his life at risk by shielding him. He was wearing a suit of armor, for God’s sake! He would have been just _ fine _! He also wants to apologize, because he knows barging in and going against the plan did not just put him in danger, but the rest of the team as well. He wants to- he wants to finish that conversation. He really wants to hear what Steve has to say… 

_ “It wasn’t about that-” _

Then _ what? _, Tony is desperate to know. He tells himself he just wants to hear his friend say that he accepts him just the way he is - wants him to say the words Howard never did. That’s what he tells himself, of course. Tony is actively avoiding giving the other explanation a second thought. 

_ He pauses for a second to clear his mind and drink his protein shake. As he leans back on the ergonomic chair, he casually looks at Steve out of the corner of the eye. He’s invading Tony’s workshop with his mysterious sketchbook and old tunes, _ ** _again_ ** . _ Tony wishes he hadn’t grown accustomed to his presence so much, because he was starting to enjoy it. There’s a cute little wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows. He has a ridiculously boyish face, Tony thinks, his skin untouched by time. He’s sitting a few feet away from Tony, on the couch that has already become _ ** _his_ ** , _ his right ankle resting over his left knee and his massive thigh serving as surface for his sketchbook. Tony watches in awe as his fingers fly over the paper and wonders what he’s so focused on. He has really long eyelashes, Tony notices: he can barely see the beautiful blue eyes through them. Suddenly, Steve’s gazes snaps up to meet his and a soft lopsided smile appears on his pink, full lips. Those _ ** _goddamn_ ** _ eyes. They’re not just plain blue: they’re steel blue - almost greyish - on the outside, then they turn a clearer shade as they near the pupils. There’s even little traces of green, too. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that makes you want to hug and cuddle him but also wreck him and it leaves Tony confused, hot and bothered. Tony shakes his head: he’s always had an eye for pretty things, he can appreciate Steve’s beauty without it meaning anything. _

_ “What d’you got there?” Tony asks. _

_ Steve _ ** _blushes_ ** , _ making his adorable expression even more endearing and Tony wants to scream in annoyance. This ridiculous crush he’s had for a while now isn’t going to end well. _

_ “Ah- just sketching. Passing the time, really.” Steve’s answer is hasty, like he doesn’t want to dwell on it. _

_ “Will you show me when you’re done?” _

_ The super soldier lifts his eyebrows, surprised, like he didn’t expect Tony to be interested in his drawings at all. Then his gaze drifts to the side, like he’s contemplating the answer, and finally smiles, amused. _

_ “Maybe... Maybe, someday.” _

Steve stirs in his sleep and Tony doesn’t think twice about it, he leans forward in the wheelchair and places a hand over his arm to still him.

And Steve sighs. Deeply, like a child who’s just been held and told everything’s going to be okay. His shoulders relax, his muscles soften under Tony’s palm and the genius could have _ sworn _ the features on his face were suddenly peaceful, like he could _ tell _ he was there.

Tony takes his hand off briefly to maneuver the wheelchair so he’s as close to the bed as he can be and resumes his position, hand lying softly over Steve’s arm. He drifts off as ‘Love Lies’ plays in the background. 

***

He opens his eyes slowly, the left one hurts a bit. He can feel the IV line on his arm as well as something warm and heavy enveloping his hand. When he looks down his heart skips a beat and the weight on his chest lifts a little. Tony’s sitting on a wheelchair, head slightly tilted to the side in what must be a very uncomfortable position for his neck and he’s… _ holding his hand _ in his sleep. 

It takes him a minute to register, but when he does he can feel his eyes tearing up in pure joy: he recognizes the sweet, deep, beautiful voice of Miss Ella Fitzgerald echoing softly through the room, telling him to _ dream a little dream of me _. Tony’s playing him his songs. He briefly wonders if this is a drug-induced delusion, given he still feels a little lightheaded from the sedatives. 

He can’t help it. He squeezes the hand in his as a little treacherous tear escapes the corner of his eye, so subtle it’ll surely go unnoticed. Tony stirs in the wheelchair, slowly waking up and wincing when he moves his head to the other side. The song changes as they silently stare at each other. 

Tony’s urge to scream at the man for putting his life in danger evaporates as he stares into the blue pools of his eyes. The way Steve’s looking at him… Judy Garland talks about a place somewhere over a rainbow that sounds beautiful so Tony just squeezes back and offers a tiny little smirk.

“You’re an idiot,” he finally says.

Steve wants to laugh but he can only manage a lopsided smile.

“You’re one to talk.”

When the song changes again and Glenn Miller’s more upbeat _ In the Mood _ starts playing the moment is broken and Tony realizes the hand holding is lasting way too long, so he gently lets go. He might be still sleepy, but he could have sworn Steve’s smile faded a little.

“I’m sorry,” the blond says. “Tony, you have to know-”

“Hey,” he cuts him off, palms in the air as a sign of surrender “I’m the one who acted like an idiot. I didn’t- I should have waited-”

“No, I mean about the other day, in the gym.” Steve feels good, he feels ready to come clean. His head is flying high in the clouds… it weighs nothing at all… this feels _ nice _. “I never liked bullies, Tony, and I sure as hell ain’t one of them.”

Tony doesn’t really want to talk about this. He wants to move on, leave the whole thing in the past, but the question leaves his mouth before he can help it.

“Then why?”

There’s a long silence and Tony doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until his lungs start burning from the lack of oxygen. Steve’s eyelids are barely open, he’s falling asleep again, but before he does close his eyes, he whispers:

“Because you deserve better than… one nights… deserve love.”

He sighs and Tony can see how his chest falls into a soft up-and-down slow movement. He’s out again. The genius can’t move. Steve didn’t get mad at him because he was with a _ guy _, he got mad because he thought Tony deserved more than meaningless sex? He frowns, eyes glued to the blond’s face and the small, alleviated smile there. 

_ Steve cares _, Tony realizes, and he can’t help the soft smile that tugs at the corners of his lips either.

  
  



	7. Fire on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers attend the annual Maria Stark Foundation Gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a little longer to go up, I took a break for my birthday. Hopefully this chapter makes up for the wait and don't worry, we're finally getting there between this and the next chap ;)

_ Fire on fire would normally kill us _

_ With this much desire, together, we're winners _

_ They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners _

_ But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms _

Weeks passed as Tony slowly recovered from his injuries - much slower than Steve, obviously. The super soldier was already out of the compound’s hospital bed and beating up punching bags in a little over a week. Tony, on the other hand, had to refrain from heavy lifting and any kind of exercise for four to six weeks and he was going out of his mind by week two. 

The first concern on the genius’ mind, however, had been whether or not Steve’s sweet words before he passed out that night had been nothing more than the sedatives talking. Tony confronted him about it as soon as Steve woke up again, the drugs fully out of his system, and he reassured him. 

_ “Did you mean it?” _

_ “Every word,” he says. “Believe it or not, Tony, I do actually care about you.” He blushes a little, and the brunette has a hard time pushing that weird feeling off his chest. “I shouldn’t have worded it like I did, though.” He looks down, ashamed. _

_ “Water under the bridge, Cap,” Tony assures him. _

Of course what Tony didn’t know is that Steve had almost had a heart attack when the man had asked him about “_that thing you said when you woke up”_. To be perfectly clear, Steve remembered what he’d been _trying_ to say, but he didn’t exactly know what he _had_ said. Luckily, he managed to pry it out of Tony before admitting to anything and immediately felt relieved. A drug-induced love confession wasn’t what he’d had in mind. _At all._

So they went back to where they were before the whole gym incident. Even better, in Steve’s opinion. Somehow it felt like an invisible wall between him and Tony had been knocked down, so when the genius asked if he would ‘give him a hand in the workshop’ while his ribs healed, Steve couldn’t help flashing him a genuine, blinding smile of happiness. 

Tony found that adorable, for some reason.

So here they are, back in the workshop together. Steve has his sketchbook with him as usual, and The Clash plays in the background at an acceptable volume for the super soldier. He’s insisted that Tony plays his music - or at least, the soft ones - because Steve wants the man to enjoy himself as much as possible, given the fact he’s still nursing broken bones. 

Steve glances up occasionally, keeping an eagle eye on the smaller man as he tinkers away, while he draws in his mysterious sketchbook. He immediately jumps off of the couch and rushes to Tony’s side when he catches the genius trying to lift a heavy piece of metal. Dear Lord, it’s like he’s babysitting a three year old.

“How many times-” Steve starts complaining with a tired sigh, extending his arms in an attempt to take it from him.

“I’m not disabled, Rogers!” Tony protests, offended, trying to shield the object from Steve’s grabby hands.

“No, you’re a middle aged man still recovering from three cracked ribs!” 

Tony gasps, outraged at the blond, and narrows his eyes, a momentary distraction Steve takes advantage of to softly but firmly grab his arms and motion the piece towards his own chest. 

“I thought you wanted me to give you a hand?” Steve reprimands him, “What good am I around here if you don’t ask for help?”

Tony reluctantly gives up the ‘fight’, feeling a sharp prick inside his chest, and carefully hands the object to Steve. 

“I don’t _ need _ help all the time,” he says childishly. 

Steve frowns. “_ Everybody _ needs help sometimes.”

“Well, I’m not _ everybody _, am I?”

“No, you’re the most stubborn of them all!” Steve quips, effortlessly holding the piece of metal. Tony is inches away from him and his eyes immediately follow the motion of Steve’s biceps as they flex. _ Holy- _ “Where do you want it?”

Tony’s lost in thought for a second. _ Around my neck, in a choke ho- _

“Tony?”

“Huh?” The brunette swallows as he looks up and shakes his head almost, the movement almost imperceptible. 

“This thing.” Steve has a worried look on his face, his eyes searching for Tony’s. “Where do you want me to put it?”

“Uh-” Had his arms always looked this massive? “Eh- on that workbench, by the screens.”

But Steve doesn’t move. It’s a little insulting how he’s just standing there looking concerned for him, like he’s not carrying sixty pounds of steel in his arms.

“You feelin’ okay?”

Tony forces himself to look away and turn around. “Of course I’m feeling okay. Don’t be such a mom, Rogers. I’m _ fine _.”

Steve frowns and eyes him for a second before he slowly moves towards the bench. “Ok...”

Tony returns to his chair, trying to hide the wince of pain as he sits down. “Hey, by the way,” he adds casually “I already told everyone else in an e-mail but since I know you’re still stuck in the stone age...”

The blond rolls his eyes as he lowers down the metal over the workbench. “You’re hysterical.”

Tony flashes him a brief, toothy smile that reminds Steve of the hyenas in that _ Lion King _ Disney movie. “This year’s Gala is coming up-”

“Gala?”

“You know,” Tony explains, “the gala SI hosts to raise money for the foundation named after my mom.” Steve doesn’t miss the detail of Tony’s juggling of words to avoid mentioning his mother’s name. “I thought, you know, if you guys could make an appearance, it would boost people’s interest...”

“The Avengers?” Steve asks, an uncomfortable lump already forming in the back of his throat. 

“Yeah...” Tony quickly backpedals as a defense mechanism in the face of possible rejection. “I mean it’s fine if you can’t, no big deal, it was just an idea...”

Steve swallows. “It’s- is it a big event? With- uh… a lot of people?”

“Well, yeah.” Tony looks puzzled. “It’s hosted at the MoMA.”

“The museum?” The blond’s eyes widen in awe.

“No, the shawarma joint,” Tony says with a completely straight face which makes Steve throw a surprised look at him. The brunette rolls his eyes, amused. Steve can be _ so _naive sometimes… He laughs softly. “Of course it’s the museum!”

“Oh.” Steve is rubbing the palm of his hand with his thumb. No, not rubbing, _ squeezing _ . Tony looks at the movements with interest. Is he- _ nervous? _

“Steve, if it’s not something you feel comfortable doing, that’s just fine. You don’t have to.” Tony’s smile is long gone and he’s looking at his friend with a firm, serious expression on his face.

“Will-” the blond shifts his weight from leg to leg, clearly a little uneasy. “If I were to go, would you, uh- be around? I don’t really… I’m not very good at the big crowds stuff, you know?”

Tony’s eyebrows fly up. “Oh...” he narrows his eyes. “I mean, you did all those USO tours back in-”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Steve lowers his head in embarrassment and suddenly Tony understands. Steve _ hates _ public events where he’s in the spotlight because it reminds him of that time he was used as a publicity stunt. Tony sighs, mentally kicking himself for even bringing it up.

“Forget I said anything, really. It was- I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, turning the chair around, ready to resume his tinkering.

Steve purses his lips and furrows his brows sadly. “I’d be fine if you were around, though,” he says, half smiling and blushing a little, a hopeful expression on his face.

Tony turns around and the minute he lays eyes on Steve, his heart melts. The broad, muscled blond is looking at him like a little puppy begging his owner to go for a walk. 

“I wouldn’t leave your side,” he assures him as he raises a solemn hand to his chest and the other one in the air, as if he were swearing an oath. He drops his arms with a loud thud against his thighs and smirks at him. “Is that a yes?”

His friend nods and his characteristic lopsided smile settles in his face. There’s just something so endearing in the way he keeps his head a little bent forward, like he’s expecting to get petted for being a good boy. Tony has to shake that thought away because it makes his mind go _ places _.

He grins, knowing exactly what the effect of his words on Steve is going to be, but going for it anyway. “Then it’s a date.”

Predictably, and much to Tony’s amusement and delight, Steve’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he laughs and walks back to the couch. There’s a short silence as Steve settles back in his spot and Tony goes back to work, but then… “I guess it is.”

Tony turns in his chair, an astonished expression on his face, only to see Steve grinning wildly with his gaze glued to the sketchbook. 

_ That little shit... _

***

Steve had been okay with RSVPing yes to the Maria Stark Foundation Annual Gala since it was like… a month away. But November 12 came around a lot sooner than he’d thought.

Now he’s standing in front of the mirror, looking at his own reflection and wincing. 

“I look ridiculous.”

He watches Natasha approach him from behind in the reflection. She looks stunningly elegant and graceful, as usual, in an impossibly tight fitting red dress. “You look far from ridiculous. Everybody loves this look, Rogers.”

She steps between him and the full length mirror and adjusts his khaki tie. He’s wearing his dark green military uniform because Nat had convinced him it would be a nice touch, given there were going to be several vets and high ranked officials in the crowd. The silly amount of decorations and medals hanging from the breast of his jacket already makes Steve deeply uncomfortable. It’s so _ flashy _.

“Yeah, it’s not pretentious or douchey at all.” He shifts nervously, his eyes darting everywhere across the room trying to avoid his reflection.

“You earned these,” Nat says, tapping his chest. “Why be ashamed of them?”

“I’m not ashamed, it just feels… pompous.”

Natasha gives the tie a final pull to put it in place and steps away to admire her handywork. 

“You look,” she smirks, “dashing, _ Captain _.” She steps closer and lies a hand on his shoulder. “And I bet I won’t be the only one to notice.”

She walks out of his room, shooting him a wink over her shoulder. 

Oh, _ good _. That does wonders to calm Steve’s nerves. He sighs as he tugs on the hem of the jacket, straightening it out. He can do this. For Tony.

***

Tony walks out of the car and a hundred different flashes go off. He’s got his characteristic glasses on so it’s no big deal. With them on he feels guarded, in control, confident. He’s shooting the photographers his charming smile as usual and extending his arm in the air, making a peace sign.

Rhodey walks out of the other side of the flashy black Audi and stands uncomfortably next to him in his Air Force dress uniform, giving nothing but a polite nod towards the crowd cheering Tony’s name.

He walks the red carpet like he always does. Tony’s a socialite, he’s been doing this for ages, so it’s easy for him to just hide behind the clown make up and put on a good show. He turns slightly to Rhodey.

“Are the rest here yet?”

Rhodey half smiles like he knows _ things _, and that makes Tony uneasy for a second. He doesn’t like that look. “They’ll be here in a few minutes, they left the compound a while ago.”

Tony nods to himself. Good, that’s good. All the gang together, impressing the biggest fish in New York. He hates playing nice to half of these assholes, but good networking means more projects for the Foundation, and that means more people getting the help they need. It’s not just about money - he’s got plenty of that - it’s about being in good graces with investors and CEOs of different companies in various areas and have them work together to create social and environmental projects. Even if the other companies only did it for the PR, Tony felt like this was his duty. He owed it to his mother to make sure this organization fulfilled its purpose.

Him and Rhodey walk through the big glass doors and immediately Tony’s surrounded by people greeting them. He talks to them as his eyes wander around the room: everything’s been decorated in Christmas fashion since the holiday season has already taken over most of the city and Tony mentally winces. _ Yikes _ . There’s lounge jazzy music playing softly as the guests leave their coats by the entrance, everybody heading slowly but surely towards the big bar placed especially for the occasion by the end of the room. _ Vultures, _Tony thinks to himself.

He’s almost too distracted, playing nice to some wealthy clown in an insanely expensive tux, and nearly misses the crowd going wild behind the glass doors. He eyes the entrance and spots his friends walking in. Sam and Clint look sharp in their suits, and then there’s-

_ Steve _.

The blond has his arm neatly folded for Natasha to hold and my _ God _, he looks like a vision. The military uniform makes his impossible shoulder-to-waist ratio all the more evident and he’s styled his hair like he used to back on the USO tours. The smile on his face is blindingly beautiful as he walks gracefully, helping Natasha down the main stairs like a chivalrous gentleman. He looks… incredible. And Tony needs a drink, pronto.

“Hey, I’m gonna head to the bar, want something?” he says to Rhodey, turning around and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the blond. 

“Uh- no, I’m fine.”

Tony nods and makes his way through the crowd. It takes him a good ten minutes to reach the other side of the room but he greets everyone politely and holds their hands, offering his best smile. That doesn’t mean that by the time he makes it to the bar he’s desperate for a glass of-

“Macallan, isn’t it?”

He turns around to find Steve holding a short glass with a very appetizing caramel-colored fluid inside. His brain isn’t fully functional because that’s Steve, looking gorgeous and smiling sheepishly while offering him a glass of his favourite scotch.

“Uh?”

Steve laughs. “The brand. That’s the one you like, right? And don’t worry, I was very specific, see?” He wiggles the glass in front of him. “No ice.”

Tony grabs it from him, still a little lost in those impossibly blue eyes. “Ah- Thanks.”

“Sure.” Steve’s smiling and he’s too close and too gorgeous. A little, almost imperceptible frown appears between his brows. “Just… please, don’t… don’t drink too much, okay?”

“Yeah, you got it.” Tony doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to because his mind is somewhere very, very far away. And is that the Sleeping _ Fucking _ Beauty waltz playing in the background? _ Gold of sunshine in his hair, lips that shame the red, red rose… _ “You look amazing.”

_ What. The fuck. _

Steve blushes as his grin widens, clearly ashamed and taken by surprise at the blunt compliment. Tony wants to jump behind the bar counter and hide there for the rest of the evening.

“Oh, this?” Steve looks down at his uniform and waves a dismissive hand. “Just something I had lying around in the closet. _ Vintage _, as you’d say.”

Tony clears his throat, finally getting a bit of a grip on himself. “So, how are you enjoying yourself?”

“Mm...” the taller man looks around, a little uncomfortable all the sudden. “It’s very impressive and-- uh, crowded.”

He suddenly remembered the promise he made to Steve and smiles broadly. “Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head with that, I’ll m-”

“Tony!” 

A woman makes her way towards them. Steve backs away a little to politely make space for her to join them, as Tony awkwardly smiles, stalling while trying to remember her name but failing miserably. He settles for the ultimate life-savior: “Hey, _ you _! It’s been... forever!”

The lady quickly steps in and rudely grabs Tony by his forearm, dragging him away. Steve’s eyes follow the both of them as the woman loudly chatters Tony’s ear off and the brunette shoots him an apologetic look.

***

Steve feels like the room is shrinking by the minute. Every time someone walks up to him and starts chatting away, it creates a ripple effect and suddenly he finds himself helplessly surrounded by at least ten people. When his anxiety starts taking the best of him, he politely excuses himself and makes his way through the crowd as fast as he can, only to cross the room and hang out on a different corner. He’s been repeating the same procedure for nearly an hour and a half.

Tony’s nowhere to be seen. Sam and Nat have tried to keep him company, but Steve’s figured out when there’s a couple of them together, people only spot them faster. Especially if Natasha’s around, she’s a frickin’ magnet in that glorious red dress. 

So he’s just standing in his - eighth? - corner of the night, hoping the event will be over soon because frankly, he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this up, when he spots him from across the room. 

He’s leaning onto the bar, in a more secluded corner, happily chatting with a very handsome young man. He sips his scotch gracefully and grins a cocky smile at the guy, lifting a cocky eyebrow - his signature seductive move. The young stud closes in a little and places a soft hand on Tony’s forearm and the genius laughs out loud.

That’s when Steve’s mind goes into override. _ Fuck this shit. _

He starts walking angrily through the room, looking for an alternative escape route that doesn’t involve the front door. He sees a window of opportunity when security isn’t looking and he pushes the fire escape door open. 

He walks up the stairs, stamping his feet as he goes up. He shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He hates this circus of handshaking and taking selfies and smiling at people who are rude and entitled. _ Ugh. _ Tony _ knew _ how hard this was going to be for him, and he _ promised _ to be by his side. He guesses that shows how much Tony Stark’s word is worth. He gets to the top and pushes the door open, the icy wind of the New York winter night hitting his face and dialing down the anger a little. 

It’s just jealousy and he knows it. Nevertheless, he needs to be angry at Tony right now. He needs a reason to justify snapping at him when he goes back down and tells him he’s leaving…

_ That’ll just lead to another fight, Steve _ . Peggy’s voice is back in his head, always saying the things he needs to hear but doesn’t want to. _ Is that really what you want? _

Steve sighs sadly. No, that’s not what he wants. He’s about to turn around and leave the roof when he notices it’s… some sort of garden. This peaks his interest so he carefully steps forward, helped by the dim city nightlights below him. There’s little knee-high shrubs emerging from the ground and sinuous spaces filled with white and slate stones. Steve spends some time admiring it, it almost looks like he’s staring at a city from up high in the sky, the way an eagle would in the middle of its flight.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

He turns around, startled at the familiar voice behind him, and immediately he can feel his body tense up. Tony’s there, by the door, gracefully leaning against it and contemplating the garden.

“How-“

He pushes himself off the wall and starts walking towards him.

“When I couldn’t find you anywhere I figured you wouldn’t have left, since that’s rude, so you might have gone for some air. You wouldn’t have used the front door since-” Tony hiccups and looks around, making an outraged face, like he doesn’t know where that awful noise has come from. “Since there’s plenty of press there. So… the roof.”

Tony stumbles forward. To the untrained eye, he just looks like he’s casually strolling towards him. Tony’s eccentricity always works in his favor in these situations. However, Steve knows better. He is drunk, as he’d suspected. 

The blond gives him one of his clenched-up-jaw looks, fuming, and Tony mistakes its meaning.

“Okay, I may have asked Romanoff, who - unsurprisingly, may I add - had seen you take the fire escape stairs.” He throws his hands in the air as a sign of defeat. “But, in my defense, I came up with the fake explanation on my way up, so-“

“Why?”

Tony’s gaze snaps up and after a second, he frowns, confused. “Why what?” he slurs and Steve feels sickened.

“Why do you always have to drink yourself stupid?”

Tony blinks a couple of times, like his brain is working on making sense of Steve’s words. When he does, he snorts angrily. “Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Doubtfire, I didn’t realize I was being babysat tonight-“

“I’m not babysitting anyone.” His voice comes out in a contained angry whisper. “But I asked you, I _ asked you _ not to drink too m-”

Tony’s bitter laughter is like a punch in the face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Rogers? It’s a party!” He walks away, his back turned on him while he stares into the city skyline. “Just because your social skills suck doesn’t mean you have to spoil the fun for everyone else too...”

And Steve winces because that hurts. It hurts a lot. He’d been honest with Tony about his anxiety when exposed to big crowds and now he just used it as a poisonous arrow, aimed directly to cause pain. He’s angry, he’s disappointed and he remembers the young man at the party and his nostrils flare and it’s all too much. He feels his upper lip retract and he spits his next words like they’re venom.

“At least I’m not a _mean_ _drunk_ who throws himself at every man who glances his way like- like...”

“Like a _ whore _?”

Steve’s anger washes away all the sudden, his heartbeat going a thousand miles an hour. The air in the rooftop has stilled, he can’t hear the traffic anymore and he feels time has suddenly stopped. Tony’s just standing there, his back to him, unflinching, unmoving.

“That’s not... I wasn’t going to say that…”

“Oh, but you _ were.” _

_ Like you have no self respect, _ those were the words that had never made it out of his mouth. Steve would have never called Tony a... _ that _, but the other man had already finished the sentence in his mind for him and… 

_ Not this. Not this again. _

“You _ promised _ me, Tony.” Steve shoots him a sad glance, even though the other can’t see it. “I told you this wasn’t easy for me, you said: ‘I won’t leave your side’...”

Tony finally turns around, his eyes gleaming in the dark, ferocious, and he howls. “Don’t give me that _ fucking crap _ now!”

Steve’s so startled by Tony’s anger he steps back a little and almost trips on a bunch of little trees. He’s fucked up. He’s fucked up bad. _ Again. _

Steve desperately eyes the door. He’s gotta go before he makes this any worse… 

Tony reads his movements well enough and runs after him, catching him right before Steve can open the access to the roof and violently shoves him against the wall, using his own body to pin him down. Steve could easily break free but his mind is blank. 

“Don’t you fucking _ dare _ run from me, Rogers! Wanna call me a whore? Do it to my fucking _ face _!”

Tony is an inch away from him and the strong smell of scotch reaches Steve’s nose. Tony’s clutching the front of his jacket, holding him against the wall and his eyes are wild and unfocused and Steve is suddenly a scared kid again.

“You’re not a… that’s not what I-”

“I believed that bullshit of me _ deserving love _, you know?” Tony whispers and Steve can see his eyes are suddenly a little brighter in the dark, something glinting in them. “I believed that…”

“You do, Tony. You do-”

“But maybe it’s something else, uh? Maybe you’re not mad that I’m drunk or not looking for _ true love _ or whatever the fuck you think it’s right for me.” He’s sneering now, the brief glimpse of sadness replaced by anger. “Maybe you’re not even a homophobe at all. Maybe you’re just _ jealous _ because you also want a piece, huh? Is that it? You want a piece of the _ whore _ for yourself, Cap?”

Steve feels a twinge of cutting pain, closing his eyes as the words slice through him like a knife. He could never think of Tony that way, _ never _. And it hurts to hear him say it. “No…”

“If this is what you want, _ Steve _ , take it.” And then Tony lets go of his jacket and, to Steve’s complete _ horror _ , starts undoing his belt. “Do it, come on. Bend me over, _ fuck me _ like the whore I am, and then leave me the fuck alone!” 

Steve grabs his wrists to stop this madness and Tony reacts violently, trying to shove him off, free himself from the blond’s iron clad grasp and punching him in the chest, grunting. Steve feels his eyes water as he forcefully envelopes the smaller man in his arms and Tony finally gives up and starts sobbing.

“What do you want from me?!” The gritty shout comes off muffled against the collar of Steve’s jacket, where Tony’s head is buried, and he can’t take it anymore. 

A silent tear falls down as he slowly pulls back a little, bringing one hand to cup Tony’s bearded chin and tilt his face up. The damp, dark eyelashes framing a couple of unfocused chocolate brown eyes lift up as Tony looks at him silently. 

“I want you to love yourself, Tony...”

_ ...As much as I love you. _

Steve is trying to decide - or rather, overthink, as he usually does - whether or not to say those last words aloud, but Tony’s so close, and his breath is so warm and damp and it’s such a contrast against the icy wind around them. Steve knows he should move, he should pull Tony away. The smell of scotch is a constant reminder that the man in front of him is not in his right mind at the moment, but his lips are slowly parting on their own accord, unwilling to stop what’s going to happen. _ Unable _to stop what’s going to happen. Tony’s lips are so close Steve can feel their shape against his own even if they haven’t touched yet, a sort of warm weight on against the skin. Tony’s voice comes out harsh, in a whisper.

“Stop me, Steve. _ Please _.”

But Steve decides to be selfish for once in his life and doesn’t.

Tony’s lips come in contact with his own, parted ever so slightly, letting both their breaths mix between their mouths and then Tony closes them over Steve’s lower lip, barely applying any pressure at all. As he pulls away, their lips come apart making a soft, wet, almost popping sound that travels like a warm stream through Steve’s body and pools at his lower belly, sending a jolt to his groin. The sound of their rapid, shallow breaths is deafening in Steve’s ears and it only adds to his arousal. It’s like he’s _ breathing _ him, breathing each other. It’s sweet, it’s perfect. It’s a moment Steve wishes he could bottle up, like a perfume, so it would never fade.

But moments _ do _ fade. And so does this one.

He opens his eyes when he feels the warmth of the body on top of his leave him, only to discover Tony’s looking at him in pure panic.

“I’m-” he backs away even further, horrified. “I’m sorry,” Tony says, avoiding his gaze as he shoves a very confused, very paralyzed Steve out of the way and rushes through the door.

The blond’s left alone on the roof, with his back against the wall, still trying to catch his breath and figure out what the fuck has just happened.


	8. ARTWORK for Chapter 7 by Umikochann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some lovely artwork I commissioned to the amazing Umikochann. Go check her talented works on her Tumblr @umikochannart !


	9. You Don't Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony finally have a much needed heart to heart talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anybody out there still reading this mess, thanks :')
> 
> It's already on the tags and all but in this chapter, past episodes of domestic violence and alcohol abuse are mentioned and discussed so if this triggers you proceed with caution.
> 
> Also, bear in mind that the characterizations of Howard and Joseph are taken straight from the comic canon which do not match the MCU storyline.

_ No you don't know the one who dreams of you at night _

_ And longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight _

_ To you I'm just a friend that's all I've ever been _

_ But you don't know me _

  


Tony races through the crowd. He calls Happy and tells him to get the car, not bothering to stop when a few people approach to talk to him. He needs to leave. _ Now _.

“Is everything okay, boss?” Happy asks, concerned, when he gets in the car with him.

“Just drive.”

“Are we going back to the comp-”

“No!” Tony cuts him off, panic quickly rising. “Let’s just… take me to the Tower.”

“Okay...” Happy eyes him through the rearview mirror, clearly aware that something’s up.

***

Natasha and Steve ride quietly back to the compound in their issued black Audi. He suspects she just faked exhaustion to give Steve an excuse to leave and he’s ever so grateful for that. The minute he steps into the facility, he’s already asking JARVIS to give him access to Tony’s floor.

“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but no one is allowed to access Sir’s floor in his absence.”

“He’s not here?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Where is he?” Steve realizes his voice sounds slightly aggressive but he can’t bring himself to care about manners now.

“I do apologize, Captain Rogers, but I am not authorized to disclose that information at the present time.”

Steve sighs and turns to Nat, who’s sunk into the couch and is taking off her high heels.

“Are you going to tell me what happened up there?”

He looks down and breathes out heavily, his hands flying to his hips. “I guess I screwed up… _ again. _” His gaze wanders around, desperately trying to come up with a solution. “I need to talk to him.”

“Call him.”

“I tried. He won’t answer.”

“Then he doesn’t want to talk.” Natasha says softly as she puts her legs up and rests them on the cushions, eyeing him from the couch. There’s a silence that follows as Steve lets those words sink in, until Nat finally breaks it. “You kissed, didn’t you?”

Steve’s look is a mix between astonishment and outrage. _ How could she possibly know?! _ As usual, Natasha reads his expressions perfectly and answers his silent question.

“He left the party in a rush, which meant he was fleeing from something. His face was a deep shade of pink, and it wasn’t from the alcohol, so he was embarrassed. Also he had dried his eyes but the sclera was reddish, so he must have cried. Then you came down, practically bursting through the door and frantically looking around the room, so you were chasing after him,” she explained as if it were the most obvious line of thought. “I’m guessing… you guys had a fight, one thing led to another, you kissed and then he ran away ashamed.” 

Natasha yawns as she stretches over the couch while Steve’s left gaping in the middle of the common living room. 

"That's a very _wild_ guess, don't you think?"

"But_ I am_ right, aren't I?" She gives him a lopsided grin of satisfaction.

There's a moment of silence and Steve narrows his eyes.

“...You’re very annoying when you do that.”

She smirks proudly, closing her eyes and humming in agreement. Steve paces the room, trying to clear his head and _ think _. He needs a plan, a strategy. He needs to calculate his options and the possible outcomes, consider how to best approach the situation…

“Stop overthinking, I can hear the gears in your brain turning.” Nat commands him softly from the couch, eyes still closed.

“I can’t!” Steve runs a shaky hand through his head. “I have to… I have to do something.”

Natasha sighs, exasperated and sits up. “Ok then. What do you want to do?”

Steve frowns and thinks for a few seconds. “I should wait until it all cools down, then try to approach him and talk to him, let him know he did nothing wrong. He was inebriated, and I was the one who should have stopped it. Of course, I have to be careful, I don’t want to hurt his feelings again-”

“Wait, _ wait _.” Nat stops him with a frown, looking at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously telling me you’re gonna weasel your way out of this by blaming it on alcohol?”

Steve looks at her, puzzled. “Wh- well, Tony wouldn’t have done what he did if he hadn’t been-”

“Correction:” she cuts him off, “he wouldn’t have had _ the balls _ to do what he did if he hadn’t been drunk. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Nat..”

“_Steve. _ ” She gives him a firm, hard look that feels like a warning. “The guy _ clearly _ has feelings for you and, to be honest, it’s quite painful to watch you both constantly push each other away because of your own inner battles. You deserve better than that.”

Steve winces at the words as if Nat had just stabbed him in the gut. “I don’t- I’m not pushing him away...”

“Yes, you are!” She looks astonished, like she can’t believe Steve doesn’t get it. “All that strategic military thinking and you can’t see the obvious, vicious pattern you’ve both fallen into lately? You get close but not close enough, he tries to compensate with someone else because he thinks he can’t have you, you get mad about it, you fight. _ Lather, rinse, repeat _.”

Steve frowns. The dinner in the compound terrace, ‘_I was thinking about you’, _Tony leaving for Malibu, the guy in Tony’s room, the argument in the gym. Returning to the workshop, the talk by the bar, the guy at the party, the fight on the rooftop. He sighs, something heavy pressing onto his chest. If he could only be honest… 

“The reasons why I can’t tell him the truth haven’t changed, Nat.” He places his hands on his hips as his gaze falls to the floor. He remembers the desperation and the sadness in Tony’s voice. _ ‘What do you want from me?!’ _ There’s no way out of this. He’s hurting him and there’s no way out of this and he _ hates _ it.

“Let’s review those reasons for a second, shall we?” Natasha says casually, standing up from the couch and walking slowly around the room.

“_Nat... _”

“Humor me, Rogers.” He sighs and silently nods, an expression of resignation on his face. “The reason you can’t tell Tony how you feel is...”

She stops pacing and looks at him, waiting. He understands he’s supposed to fill in the blank and so he does with a sigh, because he’s been over this in his head a billion times already.

“The change in the relationship dynamic could affect the team and jeopardize our duties as Avengers.”

“‘_The change in the relationship dynamic’ _, Jesus Christ, Steve!" She laughs bitterly, “I’m the one everyone expects to sound like a lifeless robot, not you.”

“If I say something and for some miraculous reason he wants the same as I do - which let me remind you, Tony Stark does _ not _ do feelings very well - how long would we have until something goes wrong? What _ happens _ to us, to the team, when it does? It’s too…” he struggles for a second to find the perfect word. “It’s _ unpredictable_, Nat, and therefore _ dangerous_.”

“_Life _ is unpredictable, Steve! Living is dangerous by definition! You can’t realistically treat your personal issues as if you were coordinating a STRIKE operation. Of _ course _ there’ll be risks and things might go wrong, but you can’t possibly predict that. And in the meantime, you might be missing out on a chance to be _ happy_. Trust me, if you keep waiting for the opportune moment, you will miss out on everything in life.” She sighs and looks away, like she knows what’s coming next is going to hurt. “Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your current brilliant _ strategy _ is taking a toll on the man you claim to love.” 

She finally glances at him and gives him a ‘I’m sorry but someone had to say it’ look. Silence falls between them when Steve looks away, rubbing his face with his hand. Isn't that what he's been doing all his life, though? Waiting for _the right time_? He sighs. Nat’s words sting like a bee hive but he knows she’s absolutely right, specially about that last part. He remembers Tony’s damp eyelashes and desperate eyes, looking up at him in agony. '_What do you want from me?!'_

What does he want from him, indeed.

“Tony…” Steve glances around, like the walls of the compound could provide assistance in making a strong argument. “He’s complicated, Nat.”

She snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She pauses and lifts up a brow. “Besides, you’re no walk in the park either.”

“Exactly.” Steve turns to look at her with a sad version of his lopsided signature smile. “We’re _ explosive_. Most of the time we don’t see eye to eye, we have completely different personalities, we are… we’re complete _ opposites_. You’ve seen what that does to the team sometimes. Imagine the consequences if feelings - _ romantic _ feelings, get in the way.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s finally found something. “What are you _ really _afraid of, Steve?” 

“What do you mean?”

She walks towards him. “You’re right, you are opposites. And sometimes that works to our advantage because what one might miss, the other spots. The skills one of you lacks, the other compensates for. You keep saying telling him how you feel would change things for the team, but things have _ already _ changed.” She half-sits over the back of the couch, standing next to him and crossing her arms. “That little stunt Tony pulled back at that HYDRA base? That’s not an Avenger worried about his teammate, that’s a man who’s in love letting the heart take over the brain. The team is _ already _ compromised, Steve, so what are you truly afraid of?”

Her scrutinizing gaze and her spot on analysis leave Steve’s mind in a haze. He thinks for a minute, really trying to come up with something else, anything else. He finally gives up with a sigh - he might as well come clean.

“Just because he likes fellas doesn’t mean he likes me, Nat. What if- what if I tell him how I feel and he just laughs in my face? Or _ worse_, what if he just wants… well, you know."

"It's called sex, Steve."

"Meaningless sex, yes. What if he just wants me to be another one on the list? And then just go back to being friends and nothing else?" Steve looks down at his feet and shakes his head, defeated. "I can’t do that.”

Natasha lets out a tired breath. “Steve, I've known Stark for a long time now. Studied him, his behaviour, his personality, his severely unhealthy coping mechanisms... I _know_ him and he _does_ have feelings for you. Even if he’s never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than any words ever could. Stop overthinking this. Take a chance and _ go for it_.”

Steve lifts his gaze to the large windows of the compound and stares into the dark of the night. “I don’t even know where he is right now.”

She raises an eyebrow and smirks. Well_, of course she does_.

***

Tony’s half-way through a bottle of scotch, splayed out on the sofa, the warmth of the booze spreading nicely through his body and numbing his brain. He needs the numbness now. He hopes that if he drinks heavily enough, the alcohol might be able to wipe out what had happened on that roof tonight. It's not just that he doesn't want to think about it, he needs it to be gone, erased from existence.

_'Stop me...'_

But Steve - he winces at the thought of his name alone - hadn't stopped him. _Why hadn't Steve stopped him_for fuck's sake. He'd just... stood there! And let Tony kiss him! Probably too shocked and disgusted to even _move_. How was he supposed to face him now? Because he would have to face him, eventually. Steve swore he didn't have anything against Tony being bisexual but he sure as fuck would have some issues with Tony drunkenly throwing himself at him. He would probably want to talk to him in a very Captain America-ish way about boundaries and shit... or worse, he'd finally take a swing at him. Obviously the friendship was ruined, there is no coming back from kissing someone against his will. Tony feels suddenly sick to his stomach and he's pretty sure it isn't from the booze only. God, what had he been _thinking_? 

The elevator dings in the background and Tony frowns, looking at the clock. 2:12 am. The little color left on his face leaves him when he turns around and a very serious, very elegant still-in-his-military-uniform Steve Rogers walks through.

Tony can guess what is coming next. He sighs and stands, barely able to catch himself before he stumbles forward.

“Ugh. Ok, let’s get this over with.” He walks towards the super soldier, whose nose is wrinkled in disapproval. Disgust, probably. It hurts to see that look on his face, so Tony looks away. Swaying slightly from side to side, he finally stands in front of him and puts his hands up. “I won’t even fight back just-” he hiccups drunkenly, “just go for it. You want the jaw? Ribs are still not 100% there yet, I think...”

When the meaning behind his words finally sinks in, Steve looks at him horrified. No - Tony squints, trying to focus - he’s not just horrified. He looks angry. 

Steve takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, annoyed. “Do even _ listen _ to a word I say?** For God’s sake**, Tony!”

Tony’s eyebrows fly up, looking confused. He was expecting a punch, not a lecture.

“What did I miss?”

“_Everything_, apparently!” Steve can’t help raising his voice, throwing his arms in the air and then resting his hands on his hips. His head falls forward as he takes a deep breath, apparently trying to regain some self control. He manages to do so because when he speaks, his voice is a lot softer. “Do you really think I’d ever lay a hand on you?”

He’s not even looking at Tony, his gaze is sad and fixed on the floor between them. Tony thinks he’d rather have the punch than that, but instead of dialing things down, his smart-ass mouth moves faster than his brain.

“Well, you once told me to put on the suit to go a few rounds, I mean-“

Steve visibly winces. “You’re just _ never _ gonna let that go, are you?” He does look up this time and there’s _ pain _ there. Tony wants to mentally kick himself but the thought occurs to him that he’s so fucking out of it, he wouldn’t be able to find his own ass if he had a map and two hands. “What else do I have to do to prove to you that I care-?” Steve sighs, gaze falling again, exhausted. “It’s like after all this time, you don’t even know me.”

That really, _ really _ feels like a punch to Tony’s gut and he feels a little lightheaded and nauseous all the sudden. He blames it on the booze, not the fact that Steve sounds incredibly sad and disappointed. He considers apologizing for a split second, but then his drunken mind tells him _ fuck it_. He's so utterly confused right now. He wishes he knew where Steve's feelings were coming from, but he has no goddamn clue and Tony _hates_ not knowing the answers. _'I care', 'it's like you don't even know me'_... this inexplicable situation unfolding in front of him right now makes no sense at all and it's making his blood boil. 

“Well, actually, no. I don’t really know you.”

Steve’s head flies up, jaw clenched tightly. 

“_What_?” he hisses.

Tony starts walking back to the sofa, trying really hard not to stumble or slur and failing miserably at both. “You know, everyone’s always giving _ me _ crap about how I don’t communicate well with others, that- that I don’t know how to do _ feelings_, but you’re just like me, Cap!” He turns around quickly - bad idea, because the rapid movement almost makes him lose his balance - and points an accusatory finger at him. “Worse, even!” He shouts and, slowly this time, turns and resumes his walk towards the sofa, huffing. “After all these years, the most personal things I’ve learned about you is that you had a barbershop quartet - which I don’t even know if it was a joke or you were telling the truth - and your mother cooked pot roast. Everything else I know it's from my dad's stories and the footage from the 40's. Half of the time I have no idea what you're thinking... always standing there with a cryptic look and that permanent frown like your butt itches but you can't scratch it. How can I know you, huh? It's not like we hang out and do Feelings Friday, passing around a teddy bear and talking about our emotions and shit. So yeah, I know I'm not good at it either, but you don't get to play the victim here when you're exactly the same!” He lets himself fall heavily onto the large leather sofa, suddenly tired. “So _ excuse me _ if I’m not a walking, talking Captain America encycloped-“

“Steve.” He corrects from behind him.

“Huh?”

“It’s _ Steve_. Please don’t call me Captain America, not... not when it’s just us.” 

He sounds tired and sad, but Tony’s having none of that.

“Very well, _ Steve_. You ain’t exactly the most open person in the world, so don’t give me crap for not knowing what goes through that vibranium skull of yours.”

There’s a heavy silence that follows Tony’s rant and lasts for what feels like an eternity. Tony grabs the bottle from the glass table in front of him and pours himself another drink. Something in his mind is yelling at him that that’s the worst idea right now, but when does he ever listen to the responsible part of his brain, anyway? As the liquid pours messily into the glass - and some of it out - Tony hears Steve’s heavy footsteps as he walks to him and sits on the sofa by his side, careful to leave space between him and the brunette. Tony looks at the gap between them and huffs. He’s probably scared that he’ll jump on him again and the thought makes him bitter and depressed.

“You’re right,” Steve whispers as he leans forward to rest his elbows on spread knees.

“Huh?”

“You’re right,” he repeats with a sigh, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows and contemplating the New York skyline "I haven't shared enough of me with you." He rubs his hands together, Tony notices, just like he always does when he’s nervous. There's a long silence in which neither of them speak or look at each other. The air in the room is dense and Tony keeps looking down at the glass in his hand, waiting, not knowing exactly what for. Then Steve takes a deep breath and speaks in a very soft, very low voice. “When my father lost his job, he started drinking heavily. Soon enough he lost all touch with reality and he would just sit in that couch, staring into the void and occasionally yelling at us. At first it was only yelling, name calling, that sort of thing. But it got real bad real fast.” He stops for a couple of seconds and it’s quite obvious he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “He couldn’t hold down a single job for more than a couple of days because he would show up wasted. Then one night, my mom was making dinner and they started fighting because he had been fired again, and he just.. snapped. Slapped my mom right across the face. Broke her lip. I was scared, so scared Tony, but I just ran and threw myself on top of her, begged him to stop. He took out his belt-”

He swallows thickly and his gaze falls to the ground. Tony finds himself rooted to the couch, eyes watery and fists clenched.

“God, Steve...”

“My mom stopped him, but- she took a few hits herself.” Steve runs the back of his hand under his nose and sniffles. There’s a pause and a silence because Steve needs a moment to regroup and Tony is too horrified to say anything. Finally, the blond coughs and clears his throat. “So now that you know this... It's not-" He pauses, struggling to find the right words. "Look, I don't mind you having a glass of scotch, but every time you drink yourself into oblivion-” he nods towards the bottle and the glass still sitting on top of the coffee table just before his gaze gets lost again into the city lights, glinting behind the window. “I know you're not drinking because you're enjoying yourself, you're drinking _to get away_." Tony can feel his eyes tear up as a shiver runs through him. He feels naked and exposed for a brief moment. "I don’t think my father was a bad man, Tony. I think he was a _ broken _ man, who let the sadness and the alcohol get the best of him, and that turned into a bad man. I don’t want to see that happen to you... and that’s why I hate that bottle glued to your hand. I hate it _ so much_.”

And that’s the last straw for Steve as he breaks down, silently crying, the tears finally running down his cheek. This doesn’t help Tony’s state, because he’s barely holding back his own. He glances at the bottle and his nose scrunches up, suddenly disgusted by the sight of it. He doesn’t know how to comfort him, what to say... because he knows well enough that nothing will ease up the burden of those memories. The only thing he can do is return the trust Steve has offered him.

“You know? I know you don’t remember him like this, but my old man was kind of an ass too.” He grabs the bottle from the table and looks at the liquid. “He had a thing for this as well... He was never... _ brutal _ , but well... he would get riled up even faster than usual once he’d had a few of these.” He wiggles the scotch in his hand and puts the bottle back down. Steve looks at him and frowns. His eyes are red and confused and even more blue if that’s even possible. “Yup. There were two things that the mighty Howard Stark, proud founder of Stark Industries and advanced futurist, could not tolerate: someone who was better than him at what he did and men who liked to suck dick. Sadly for him, his son was both.” Tony laughs bitterly, and it’s his turn to lower his head, gaze fixed on the ground between his legs. “What a disappointment I was... He was always talking about you, you know?” Steve shoots him a surprised look. “Hell, I even used to dress up like you when I was a kid. Fake shield and all. I wanted to be like the great hero, the great Captain America.” Tony lets out a sarcastic chuckle, the burn of unshed tears in his eyes as he glances at the bottle. “But see? This is precisely the difference between you and me, Steve. You’ve _ grown _ from your trauma, you’ve even forgiven your father, because that’s the kind of man you are. A compassionate man, a _ good man_. Me? I’ve just followed in his footsteps, repeating the same mistakes he did. You were right tonight” a tear finally escapes him “I am a mean drunk, just like him.”

“Tony-”

“And that’s why I’ll never be good enough.“ 

_ For you. _

He doesn’t say it... because he knows it’s true and because that hurts. He can feel Steve turning towards him on the couch. He flinches a little and blinks rapidly to keep the tears from falling when the blond grabs his wrist and squeezes. He can’t look at him, but there’s a hand on the side of his face that makes him turn.

“You’ve always been more than good enough, Tony.”

And they’re close, they’re _ so _ close. For the first time, both physically _and _emotionally. 

Steve keeps rubbing circles on his wrist with his thumb and sending shivers down Tony’s spine. The honesty and the intensity behind his damp blue eyes is soul-crushing and he needs to look away, but Steve’s tongue travels between his lips as they part and his gaze lowers to Tony’s. 

“I don’t want your pity.” He means to sound harsh, but Tony’s voice is weak and shaky.

“Good. Because this isn’t pity.” Steve’s getting closer by the second, his eyelids are slowly shutting and Tony wonders if he’s hallucinating and he’s actually passed out on the couch from all the booze, having some sort of fucked up wet dream.

"You don't even like men..."

"I think we've established we don't know each other as well as we thought." It's more of a whisper than anything else but Tony's mouth parts in surprise and Steve is _dangerously_ close now. “You can still walk away, Tony.” 

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it-” Steve's practically breathing over his lips at this point.

Tony loses his patience and closes the tiny little space between them. This kiss is nothing like the one on the roof. This kiss is heated, it’s wet, it’s passionate and deep. It's full of longing and emotions and secrets and pain. Tony's lips dance softly against Steve’s like waves and, after what feels like a lifetime, he pulls away to breathe in harshly, opening his mouth just a little to let his tongue poke out and slip past the blond’s parted lips. He tries to hold back and not ravish him, but when their tongues first touch, Steve _ moans_. 

Tony has to admit things escalate pretty quickly after that.

He places his hands on both sides of Steve’s head as he deepens the kiss further, tongue exploring the welcoming warmth of Steve’s mouth, breathing heavily as they kiss. Tony can’t fucking believe it when he feels Steve kiss him back, a little shy and tentative, his hands running delicately but firmly up Tony’s back, like he’s holding onto him for dear life. He can feel the heat of Steve’s palms through the thin fabric of the shirt and, _ God_, he smells so nice and he tastes so delicious and his lips are _so fucking soft_. He pulls away from the blond’s mouth for a second and takes advantage of the move to trap the full, plump lower lip gently between his teeth and pull. Steve moans, _ again _ , and it’s a wanton moan and _ oh_, Tony wants to play him like a violin and get more of that beautiful music out of him. He’s still pretty drunk so he stumbles a little as he brings a leg up on the couch to kneel on it and braces the other foot on the ground. He rises up in the air a little, roaming his hands all over Steve’s uniform jacket as he gently - but clumsily - pushes him back against the sofa. 

A pair of big, strong hands come up to his shoulders.

“Tony…” Steve whines between hot, open mouthed kisses, but he’s decidingly pushing him off and Tony feels he should feel embarrassed by the whimpering noise he makes when they pull apart.

He settles back down on the sofa, Steve’s hands still on his shoulders.

Panic sinks in quickly. _ Shit shit SHIT! _Why had Steve pushed him away? What had he done wrong? Wait, was he- did he read this wrong? But he had kissed him back! Tony’s head feels like it’s been hit by Mjolnir all the sudden. Steve must recognize the terror in his eyes because he’s quick to clarify.

“No, I want to… I want _ you_, so much, but I also… I wanna do this right.”

Tony blinks and his eyes dart across the room. “Uh- Right?”

“Well... for one, I'd like you to make this decision sober-"

"I would still want this." Tony cuts him off but Steve raises a hand to stop him.

"_And_ there's something else." Steve sighs and closes his eyes, like he’s getting ready to blurt something embarrassing out . “I don’t want- I don’t want to be like other fellas.”

Tony’s brows fly up and he eyes Steve’s body unashamedly, shooting him a smirk. “Darling, you could _never_ be like other ‘fellas’.”

The brunette’s ready to jump on him again but Steve places both hands on his chest. “I don’t mean that. I mean… I don’t want _ just _ this.”

He gets a puzzled look that slowly turns into a frown as the meaning behind Steve’s words sinks in.

“You wanna… what? _ Wine and dine _ me?” Tony can’t help the surprised chuckle.

Steve swallows thickly and Tony immediately loses the grin. There’s a panicked look on the blond’s face that tells Tony he is, in fact, dead serious. They stay silent, looking at each other, their breaths coming back to normal. Tony’s mind is blank. _ Steve Rogers _ is sitting there, lips swollen from all the kissing, asking him on...

“A _ date _?”

Steve nods very slowly, like he’s in front of a wild animal than could easily rip him apart at any second. “Yeah?”

“_Oh_.” Tony blinks. This conversation feels so surreal that it borders on ridiculous. He wants to laugh his ass off, but Steve looks so exposed and vulnerable right now, he feels he might take it the wrong way if he does. He blinks again. “Okay.”

The genuine, child-like smile that spreads over Steve’s face is so goddamn endearing Tony feels the physical need to hug the poor thing. “Okay,” Steve parrots.

After a minute of just staring at each other like _ idiots,_ Steve adds: 

“Just promise me you’ll go easy on the ‘wine’ part, though.” And that’s enough to make them both break in laughter. Tony in bewilderment and Steve in relief.

_ It’s a freakin’ date, then. _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are immensely appreciated xx


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